Necessary Evil
by Frosty Autumn
Summary: The women in Oswald's life are few, and even fewer could admit to loving him. For once in his pitiful life, he would do something selfless. Pre-Gotham.
1. Reminisce

A breath of tangy sea air is always best when inhaled straight through the nose. My lungs expanded, invigorated, and I was peaceful again. Gotham City's docks were always a dank slab of commercialized fishery depots, but today was an important day for me.

Weak but strengthening blue light encompassed everything. The horizon was just a grey-blue smear of pre-morning. One or two fishermen and equipment workers walked about here and there, clocking in early and preparing for their day's work, but I would only be a few minutes. The car was still running and I couldn't stay long.

My umbrella seemed like a silly precaution now, the black clouds were too sparse to let fall a single drop, but I held it tight just the same, comforted by at least having something to occupy my hand.

I stood on the edge of the concrete walkway, the choppy, lapping harbour water just one wrong step below. This was the place where I had last seen her, exactly one year ago today. Before she left me forever. I stared past the water's surface at a section of Gotham City skyline directly in my view, but it wasn't the object of my focus.

I planned ahead to make certain that the time of day was accurate, too. I still remembered that if I stood at this exact same spot when the sun rose, it would appear as a heavenly sliver between two skyscrapers in the distance.

To the few workers who would notice me standing here aimlessly, I would only appear to be a man simply lost in his thoughts. Of suicide, perhaps. Either, or. It was of no consequence to me. They weren't the reason why I was here.

I caught myself contemplating. I had to admit, I never thought much of her when we first met. Likewise she with me, I'm sure. To be perfectly honest, I think her initial reaction said it all. Every surfacing memory I had in that moment brought a new regret, but I soon realized that they were all trivial. Favorite movie? Favorite board game? Favorite artificial flavor? Meaningless.

I'm still glad she happened to me.

As the only child of two Greek immigrants, she was never well-off financially. Despite the heavy accents of her parents, she spoke perfect English. Her father was a fisherman who found work on this very wharf I was currently standing on, and her mother managed a small, Greek-run produce store in Park Row. I knew that they would both would not come in to work today, though, and not ever again.

She was uneducated as far as most upscale employers were concerned. With only a high school diploma to her name, her dreams were cut short in order to help her parents stay on solid ground. It was her choice after all was said and willingly done, her decision was uncontested. She rose at 8:00 AM sharp the next morning and donned her forest green apron, hauling fruit from a delivery truck and setting to work on their display.

It's hard to forget that autumn afternoon we crossed paths, even if I wanted to. In a bizarre twist of fate, I have a few street toughs to thank for that. _They_ decided on that specific alley, situated away from prying eyes, and long enough to hide midway inside so that I could continue to absorb their punches in private.

One of them had me by the lapels of my black sport coat, hauled me inside, and threw me to the ground. I stumbled and fell, landing in a greasy, stagnant puddle at the building's edge. The water wasted no time in soaking through the pitiful layer of my dress pants. I held out a pleading hand of surrender.

"No, no, no, wait, stop," I stammered.

One of the three, a solid mass of a guy with some Spanish name I can't remember, strutted forward, grabbed me roughly by my collar and hoisted me onto my feet. "You think we're playin' games?" he threatened inches from my face. He braced his arms and rattled me once, stretching my shoulder seams to their very limits. "You think you can just come in here and disrespect us?!"

"I-I-I—" I was cut off by being tossed into a towering pile of discarded, broken grocery supplies and crates.

"Have at him, boys," the Spanish man said to his cronies, stepping back and allowing them forward.

What came next is the worst part to relive. No matter how much I'm used to being the bullseye for a pulverizing blow, I'll never get used to the pain that follows. Gina Carlto was my first during my schoolyard years. She was a beefy third-grader with no neck and still has the sharpest, most accurate right hook I have ever known. Needless to say, I was no match. My teeth have taken quite a few knuckles over the years. Three of them aren't even mine as a result, but the dentist I chose by way of random process had pride in her work, thus most strangers usually cannot tell.

I heard the squeak of a metal barred door somewhere far off in-between the noise of knuckles connecting to my bones. My body curled reflexively into a ball, as if it would somehow minimize the pain. It never does. Every punch wrung a strangled, unintentional cry from me. Their unrelenting energy meant that they were far from done.

"Hey!" somebody screeched from a distance. "Stop it!"

I felt one less fist.

"Mind your own business, we got a score to settle!" one thug hollered in retaliation.

"Step away ri-right now, all of you, before I call the police! I mean it!"

My attackers altogether relented, but not from fear of the threat. They were very much in control of every aspect of the situation, but apparently they couldn't resist a sideshow. I panted from the lasting ache they left behind, and it only kept getting worse by the second, spreading to places they never even pummeled. I had enough sense of mind left to register that the interrupting voice was female. And bluffing like mad.

"We ain't afraid'a no GCPD!" answered the leader. "So just go back where you came from and keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

The female was silent for a beat. I couldn't see her over the hill behind me.

"I mean it," she warned again with inflated, shaky bravado.

The leader scoffed. None of this was worth his time. He gazed over at me with a sneer.

"Well, looks like the lady says he's had enough, boys," he oozed sardonically. "You have a nice day then, ma'am. This piece of shit is your problem now."

He saved one last kick for my stomach, doubling me over, and walked away. Another spit on me in passing, and then all three filed out of the alley, leaving me alone. Or at least I thought I was alone. I don't know how serious the female was about going to call the police. A hollow clatter echoed somewhere and the quick slapping of shoes got closer.

I didn't see her turn the corner. All I could see was the black of my tightened eyelids. I was clenching my teeth so hard that I swore I would crack them.

"Oh my God!" I heard her fretful, breathless voice. A breeze brushed my skin and I suddenly sensed her presence very close to me. "Stay where you are, I'll call an ambulance!"

"I don't-...need one," I grunted. The young woman had just witnessed me being beaten into tenderization, I didn't need the extra humiliation of being carted away on a stretcher and a blaring vehicle.

"Does anything hurt? Can you stand?" she asked quickly.

I couldn't even muster the energy to give her a disdainful look. I was certain my condition would have been enough of a blinking neon sign for her. "Just...give me a second."

I forced my eyes open, expecting her to appear in my view. I just didn't expect her to be completely blocking my entire perspective. Her concerned, angled brows were shot to her dark hairline, which was pulled back into a mess of a ponytail. Her owl-like, dark brown eyes wouldn't cease darting in a panic, they were shifting over every inch of my body. Her puffed lips were parted dumbfoundedly, elongating her oval face.

"Do you need help standing up?" she asked firmly, like she was trying to take control of the situation.

"No," I said pertly in a tone that I hoped would put an end to her questioning. She was beginning to irritate me with the constant barrage. If she really wanted to help she would just leave me be and let me hobble home on my own. Just like every other time before.

I shifted onto my hands, preparing to boost myself onto my knees. My upper lip felt warm and wet. I sniffled to test my nose, and as a result snorted a large glob, confirming to myself that I was indeed bleeding. Thankfully the girl backed away to give me my space, but her hands stayed hovering in the air, poised to catch me if I tumbled like a newborn fawn.

Wobbling and stiff, I somehow managed to stand just fine without her help, something I was proud of. I am resilient. I survive.

"Here, sit down on this," she said, gesturing to a discarded crate large enough to fit the both of us comfortably. "I'll wait with you here until the cops come." Both her hands touched my shoulder in an attempt to guide me. I shrugged her off. She quickly retracted.

"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No."

The girl put her hands on her hips, not sure whether to be offended by my stubborness or not. I stole a glance at her to size her up, gauging what I was up against. A tad on the weightier side, her form-fitting t-shirt gave a small peek of semi-roundedness in her stomach, though this effect also worked to her advantage and accentuated her more important curves. Her jeans also stretched across strong thighs. Still, she didn't seem all that threatening.

"Look, miss," I began.

"Pardon, I should have said earlier. Call me Renata."

"Renata," I repeated blankly, "I appreciate your concern—", somewhat, "—but there is no need to trouble yourself. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes."

Renata stepped close enough that a waft of her subtle, powdery perfume floated into my face. Meanwhile I was sure that I reeked of the stale-sour scent of spit.

"I can be a witness," she insisted, blocking my path. "I've got your back, don't worry." She said it as loyally as if we'd been friends all our lives.

I didn't answer and acted as though I hadn't heard her. My right knee was throbbing something fierce and it felt bad enough that I needed to sit down for a little while. Side-stepping her, I limped to the crate she indicated. My motion would just appear to her that I had silently taken up her offer. I allowed her to think that for now, my pride was going to be a slow process to build up again after this incident.

Settling gingerly into a seated position, my body unwound by the slightest margin. A little relief was better than no relief at all.

A discarded wooden baseball bat lied several feet away, which must have been the hollow clattering noise from earlier. Well, at least this Renata girl deserved some credit in not being recklessly weaponless when taking a couple punks on.

She didn't sit down next to me, opting instead to hover like a satellite and look me over head-on.

"It's going to be a while to wait. Do you need anything to eat in the meantime?" she offered.

My stomach was like a black void. To tell the truth, I hadn't eaten in quite a while. Yesterday afternoon to be precise. I didn't answer her question, though, I could scrounge for something myself later, it wasn't important. Neither were the useless cops. All I needed was a moment to catch my breath and wait for my skull and ribs to stop pounding, then I'd be out of her hair and she'd forget I ever happened.

Her eyes searched me, anticipating permission or a reply. "I'll go get something for you anyway," and she bounded away, disappearing back into the produce shop. "Don't go anywhere!" I heard her call from inside the propped open door. Presumably she would also take some time to call 9-1-1.

Now that she was gone I hoped I could slip away, but my chest still convulsed in heavy, lugging breaths. I wouldn't get far before she came back.

She emerged again within the minute, jogging back to me with a plastic-wrapped sandwich clutched in her hand. And an ice-pack.

"It was all I could find that was ready-made. Here." She placed the sandwich in my hands, careful not to transfer any of my blood onto her. Preservation of evidence or just plain squeamishness, I couldn't tell.

"...Thank you," I said shortly, hiding my begrudgement well. I didn't need her help, I got through life so far without much of anyone else's. Still, I was pretty famished. "So what do I owe you?" I added while unwrapping the plastic, preferring to get to the point. An eye for an eye, a favor for a good deed, that was the way people worked in this town. Can't get everything for free, because even the air you breathed had a price.

"Don't worry about it," she said dismissively. "It's taken care of. Eat."

I almost laughed but instead suppressed it and smiled into the first bite as my teeth sank into the bread. Naive. Phony nobility. I'd seen her type before, nothing new.

The sandwich was some sort of bland turkey and lettuce combination, but it would get the job done at least. Freshness was another plus since the bread still looked fluffy, and though the lettuce was limp it still retained it's crunch.

"I brought this for you, too." Now was when she chose to sit down beside me. She held up the ice pack.

I looked at it questioningly.

"You've got a nasty-looking welt under your eye," she explained.

I touched my left cheekbone. It felt fine.

"The other one."

Touching my right, I cringed instantly. The spot felt raised and brutally tender. Placing the sandwich aside for a moment, I accepted the ice pack, shivering at it's first contact with my face, but in seconds I relaxed from the relief.

"Can you tell me your name?" she asked conversationally, clearly expecting the exchange because she shared hers.

I pretended to need a pause to finish chewing another bite when I really was just buying time. I scratched my brain for an invented name, but what was the use. It wasn't any concern of mine whether she knew my real name or not.

"Oswald."

"Oswald," she repeated, nodding. "You don't hear that kind of name around anymore. Very distinguished."

I made a non-committal noise and stared ahead at the grime-encrusted brick wall.

The autumn chill in the air was mild. Goosebumps formed on Renata's exposed arms, but she took little notice of their appearance. True to her word, she stayed with me.

The cop's arrival was an uneventful affair. Two responding GCPD officers, seasoned and grim from years of grudgingly having to babysit for petty crimes such as this one, went through the motions, asking only the questions they needed to. Renata did most of the talking, thankfully. I wasn't much in a mood to. All I had to do was refuse their one-time offer of an ambulance.

She led the officers to certain points of the alleyway, gesturing to the corner where she found me and describing the street thugs in exquisite detail, everything from what they were wearing to their physical features, all without prompt. She was very theatrical with her hands, even going as far to illustrate dimensions and height. Once they took a short statement from me, they promised Renata in dull tones that they would do their best, and they left.

I felt an urge to tell Renata that the officers weren't going to follow-up, that her optimism in the GCPD was unfounded. But I didn't care enough. Let her think that justice would come through. She'd find out soon enough.

By now the autumn light was softening. Had to have been around 5 P.M. by then. My aches had subsided enough that I could walk home unassisted and not collapse. I wasn't looking forward to seeing the mottled purple mosaic that had surely painted my body when I would step into the shower tonight.

Renata stood up to see me off when I told her I would be on my way.

"Do you need me to call a cab? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Nothing you can help with, I assure you."

Renata still looked doubtful. "Here." She dug into her pocket, fishing out her store's business card. "Take this phone number, call me if you need anything else. If I'm not at work, you can call me here." Swiping a pen from her apron pocket, she quickly scrawled her home number on the back of the card. "You really took quite a beating back there. I'm just worried for your well-being." She held it out for me to take, pinching it between her fore and middle fingers.

I accepted the business card and placed it in my pocket without looking at it. "Thanks," I said automatically.

"If it's alright with you, can I see you again?"

See me? I had no idea what she meant by that. Oh, I knew the phrase in the way that other people used it, but Renata's intentions were difficult to figure out judging by her tone. I wasn't egotistical enough to assume that she wanted to see me again for reasons outside of this incident.

"I just need to know that you're okay," she clarified.

Called it.

I'm not much for promises. Too delicate to be kept. One wrong move and they're stopped cold. I thought of refusing her point blank to save her the trouble of holding out hope for an update on my condition, but my mother taught me better than that. I had to be a gentleman, a man of class above all else in the face of trial and adversity.

"We'll see," I told her. It neither confirmed a yes or a no, but the answer would still placate her in the meantime.

She nodded affirmatively. "Get some rest, then. You deserve it. I'm really sorry this happened, I hope you'll be okay, Oswald."

She would never know that the fight she had broken up was entirely my fault. I had been the one to provoke those thugs into a foaming-mouthed frenzy just minutes earlier. It sounds stupid on paper, I know; a twiggy beanpole single-handedly inciting a scuffle against three street hoods who practiced chin-ups from their fire escapes every day. But they had it coming. They called me penguin.

* * *

**A/N: This story idea came to me about two weeks before Gotham's pilot premiered. I was so excited for this show, I've been keeping up with promos since April when I first heard it was coming :D I know tons about The Penguin already, I've been a huge Batman fan for years, but I wanted to wait until I watched a few episodes of Gotham to be certain whether or not the show would make some changes or take a few liberties with the character. It's been pretty consistent so far after two episodes, so I feel safe uploading this now.**

**Fair warning, this story might be a short one. Maybe a two or three-parter. At least that's what I'm planning, but I do have a tendency to get carried away sometimes. Thank you for reading if you made it this far!**


	2. Start

Getting into bed that night was an ordeal, but crawling out of it in the morning was war. My bruises, which dotted a considerable amount of my upper body, had turned the most putrid shade of brackish blue I had ever seen, and even somehow seemed to have marginally expanded overnight. Upon entering the bathroom and checking my nose in the mirror to make sure it hadn't been broken, some blackened bits of dried blood I somehow missed the previous evening flaked into the sink.

My eyes were rimmed with dark circles, but that was par for the course, they always seemed to have an ominous shadow underneath, unintentional on my part. Except today my left side was darker than normal, thanks to that welt. Luckily it wasn't as sensitive to the touch this time.

I felt no worse for wear as far as internal damage went.

Besides residual humiliation.

Something nagging in my brain pulled me back to the previous day, a reminder of something I was supposed to do. I recalled that Renata girl. I hadn't forgotten about her and how she hoped I would check in with her. The card was still in my coat, untouched and forgotten since I pocketed it. I had no inkling to actually fetch it and indulge her, I'm not one for arbitrary phone calls. She saw me walk away still relatively attached, that should have been enough to satisfy her. That is, if she was at all truly sincere about being concerned for my _well-being_, as she put it.

I supposed, however, that I owed her something for her interference. That was the sort of habit Gotham instilled in you, the quick reimbursement of a favor you owed before things escalated out of control. Simple solution to that. I thank Renata in person, ease her mind, and we go our separate ways.

My stained, scuffed sport coat was draped over the entranceway chair where I deposited it upon returning to my apartment last evening. I thought fleetingly of just throwing it on again for today. That was the thing about black. It hid blood quite well. However, I reminded myself that I had more pride than that, lowly and quiet as I may seem, so I settled instead for a clean, wool, autumn coat. Black, of course. Paired with a white button-up shirt and dark grey slacks cinched with a belt.

I prefer a more impeccable, presentable style of dress, one that says more about my taste for finery than my bank account or living space does. It was a good thing that I could choose to keep the latter two private, for they were in stark contrast to my clothing at this point in my life.

Ready and heading for the darkened front door (the bare bulb hanging from the black cord had burnt out three days ago), I grudgingly set off for that little produce shop in Park Row.

Passing by a fresh flower kiosk on the way—conflictingly placed on a sidewalk near a busy intersection where plumes of exhaust were a permanent fixture in the air—I quickly doubled back and impulsively bought a bundle of five pink roses. I would have preferred a gift with more permanence, but I really wasn't keen on expending enough effort to impress anybody. The thought would do nicely.

I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, minding my own business while traipsing over blackened spots of discarded gum, letting the path guide me more than my sense of direction. I passed Renata's workplace more than enough times in the past to have its location tuned on autopilot.

Upon arrival, I stood in front of the double-wide door, which was open invitingly to customers despite the chill in the air. I had no need to enter, I found her in no time at all, chatting with a co-worker. Her hair wasn't confined to a scraggly ponytail like yesterday. Today it fell in dark, choppy waves that brushed her collarbone. Certainly more flattering, if I were in any position to be a judge.

She spotted me before I even thought of a way to get her attention.

"Oswald!" she said brightly, grinning. She excused herself to the co-worker and bounded over to meet me. "Well look at that, the swelling has really gone down quite a bit. How are you feeling?"

Damn. She wanted to engage in small talk. I was never really good at it.

"All things considered, better than yesterday," I replied casually.

"Great! Happy to hear it. You know, it was really eating me up inside that you were attacked like that, it's a relief to see you're not seriously hurt."

I produced the flowers from behind my back. "A small token."

Renata was momentarily stunned as she took them in. "Oswald," she said in mild astonishment, accepting them. "Thank you. You didn't have to go out of your way."

"Well, I guess I'm just a little indebted to you," I admitted.

"You didn't have to get me anything, though," she said sweetly, delicately touching and admiring a few petals. "Really. I was glad to help. Thank you, I love them."

The offer was rife. I could act the weasel and slink away, accepting that answer as closure to any other future exchange between us, but that wasn't a guarantee. One day I could get that call from her about a favor needed. Networking was an extremely useful commodity when one resided in Gotham, but I had to make doubly sure that I wouldn't be indebted to Renata forever, only to have it resurface at the wrong time. I doubt any connections she had would get me far up the ladder anyway.

But again, my mother.

"Hey," Renata said suddenly, eyes brightening. "I'm actually going to be off in about three minutes, I've got a couple coupons for that bistro just down the street. You can join me if you'd like."

Persistent little thing, this one. I automatically thought of a polite way to decline. "Thank you for the offer, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you again, you've already fed me once."

She waved that excuse away like it wasn't relevant. "Oh don't even worry about that, trust me, it's nothing. Tell you what, I'll even give you the free meal. Think about it. Come on, do you really have anything to lose?" Her voice was edged with friendly enticement, then she patted me on the shoulder.

I smiled tightly to hide the wince as my bruise throbbed upon contact. "Not at all."

I wanted to stick to my resolve, not be roped in by promises, but I suppose a free meal would be silly thing to pass up. So she pitied me. Pity was fine, I could accept that. It was a better alternative to revulsion. I had to admit, in some secret part of me, I didn't exactly resent the fact that she was trying to do something nice for me. Even if she did appear a little clueless as to what I was trying to do.

After a short wait, she disappeared into the shop and reemerged in casual street clothes, wearing a blazingly red V-neck and jeans.

The bistro was a quiet little place, charming in a way. We made nothing but small talk, mostly. We were still strangers after all. Conversation was stilted, but not revoltingly unpleasant.

Although, when she wasn't looking, I still snuck glances at my wristwatch.

* * *

Her workplace just happened to be on my way to the subway train. I couldn't avoid her, she caught me and engaged in a bit of updating on my condition, to which she brought up that she hoped the GCPD would catch the thugs who had done this to me. I still don't have the inclination or the time to crush her optimism, even though I should.

* * *

A few days later, I passed by while on an unrelated errand, merely glancing in the shop window, not expecting her to be there. But she was and had spotted me instantly. She seemed happy to see me, noting how the welt beneath my eye was completely gone now.

* * *

I didn't think she was much when I first met her, but in all this time she barely seemed to notice my...physical shortcomings, as it were. Her eyes never seemed to stray to my hook nose, my deathly limp and thin hair that naturally fell pasted to my forehead, or my screech-worthy smile. In retrospect, I found that maybe my first assessment of her wasn't all that fair. The dimples that appeared on her cheeks when she smiled were quite persuasive. I'd say they were innocent enough to dupe even the most hardened crime boss.

* * *

A week later I dropped in again, grateful for the mildly pleasant conversation of at least somebody who wasn't trying to wring something out of me. It was something to do, at least.

* * *

And again.

* * *

And again.

* * *

Weeks ago I would have been indifferent to the prospect that I had made a friend in Renata. But I did. She sincerely enjoyed my company on a personal level, which I found suspicious and difficult to get used to from years of conditioning to never trust a friendly person. Rough experience taught me enough times that friendliness is a manipulation tactic. I wasn't getting my hopes up with Renata, there was always time for some hidden trait to make itself known, but for the moment I found that I was attracted to the prospect of someone's company. Like a confidante. When you go so long without it, you kind of forget how to miss it.

She didn't speak of business, or finances, or things of an official nature. She spoke of things more on the emotional spectrum; what interested her, what interested me, what her family was like, what my mother was like.

I didn't get this chance often in my life, and somehow I overrode my inhibitions to convince myself to just let me have this. Renata was as harmless as my elderly neighbor who made small talk every time we simultaneously collected our mail. Shaking off a little loneliness in the process wasn't a threat to my ambitions.

And then, presenting itself in the nauseatingly syrupy way that only belongs in movies, there came the day where I would never second-guess her intentions again.

We'd been out for a stroll on a grey day. Can't remember for the life of me what we were talking about or why we had even met up that day. All I remember is that suddenly we were caught in a downpour on a sparsely-populated city sidewalk. Not just a trickle at first and then buckets, no, the rain was an opened floodgate. Renata shrieked gleefully, taken by surprise and tucking her neck into her collar as the cold water trailed down her back. She had left her coat behind again.

There was a hotel several feet ahead. I had just begun unfurling the umbrella I brought with me, just in case, when she linked her arm with mine and hurried for the hotel's awning. Sheltering ourselves underneath it, we stood on the long, red welcome carpet while we were surrounded on three sides by silver sheets. So much for the umbrella. Still, though, I kept it open and leaned the metal stem over my free shoulder, just in case we would need to make a sudden run for anything.

Renata threw her head back and ran her fingers through her damp, increasingly frizzing hair. Mine wasn't so lucky, it was already soaked to the scalp. I gathered it away from my forehead and pressed it flat, slicking it back to keep the water from dripping into my eyes. Renata still had her arm around mine and had buried her face into my wool sleeve, giggling like a child.

Getting a hold of herself and letting her enthusiasm settle, she raked her fingers through her hair again, shaking it out. She clutched my arm like I was her only pillar of balance. Glancing up at me, she returned my smile the instant she saw it.

I never would have considered hypnotism to be one of her hidden skills, but I found myself locked in place just the same. I think it was Renata who moved first, but then again I have no memory of having any awareness of my body within that lapse. She could have asked me anything then and I am certain I would have mindlessly obeyed. Her face suddenly came into sharp focus in my vision, a clarity I had never seen in her features before. A subtle relaxation came about her eyes. It was until we were almost nose-to-nose before I realized we had been closing the gap between us during the entire time I was in my state of limbo.

As if synchronized, as if suddenly realizing what we were both doing, we hesitated. Never for a moment, though, did the line of sight break. Until something overtook me. Inching slow, the gap came to a close. More gentle, more soft than anything I had ever felt in my entire life, our lips melded together in a feather-light touch and instantly my heart overinflated in my chest, almost painfully. Anxiety and thrill, all in one. It was only then that it occurred to me that we were engaging in a kiss.

It didn't last long. Merely a delayed second or two, a simple touch. But it felt like more. Much more. Upon parting, we simply watched one another, mildly dazed.

I almost had a difficult time looking her in the eye. I thought for a frightening moment that maybe her interest was imagined. That my mind only saw what it wanted to see, and so I had just forced myself upon her. An apology was already crawling up my throat and I was ready to voice it when she suddenly grinned at me, bright and blushing, a shy breath of a laugh escaping through her teeth.

I wasn't prepared for what she did next. She turned ahead to wait out the rain in silence and leaned her head against my arm, with the most content smile I had ever seen on her face.

I suppose there was really no natural segue after that, so I did the same. For the first time in a very long time, my smile was genuine.

If only she could feel how tense my body was in the aftermath.

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**A/N: ****Whoa! Stop everything...I have to say, this is the most fanfare I've EVER had of any of my stories on just one chapter alone! As of publishing this chapter, 6 Reviews, 12 favorites, 21 Follows, and over 250 visitors? I. Am. Floored...can't breathe, guys. Can't breathe...I am so overwhelmed at this response. I just hope you can still all be this enthusiastic when it ends. The pressure is on. One more chapter to go.**

**I'm using some inspiration from the comics to fill in a few blanks that the show hasn't expanded upon yet.**


	3. Alike

**A/N: I hope you're happy, guys. You made a liar out of me. I said three chapters. Only three chapters. I can't go more than three. But here we are at three, and it's not over yet. Yes, you all convinced me to add an additional chapter. I chose to use this one to shed more light onto certain characters. I am delaying the ending until the fourth installment. You know the power you have over me, readers, I'm too much of a softie...  
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**But I have to say that you guys really challenged me in a positive way. This chapter's entirety never even would have occured to me until after I posted the second chapter and the reviews were pouring in about extending 'Necessary Evil'. I was even a little distracted at work one day, writing ideas down on my hand because I couldn't reach a slip of paper in time to collect my thoughts (don't worry, I don't operate heavy machinery or on bodies for a living). Not sure whether or not this chapter is up to par. It is, after all, slightly deviating from my original plan, but ultimately that's up to the readers to judge.**

* * *

I've witnessed Renata's vulnerability only once. The incident was sudden and unsolicited. Hours after it was over, when I had time to reflect whilst staring at the ceiling in my dark apartment, I considered us even.

Three days later after the kiss and we still never discussed it, never mentioned it, never asked why, never brought up the subject to elaborate on what it exactly meant between us, whether it signified a growing, greater bond than what we had anticipated, or if it signified a carefree moment we simply took advantage of. The odd thing was, though, that it was clear we both came to a conclusion regardless.

Granted, I have limited experience when it comes to this sort of bonding. In fact, that's how inexperienced I am, I can't even describe the phenomenon I'm speaking of by name because I'm not really sure which affections should be considered official and which should not. After all, friends still greeted eachother warmly. Friends still shared secret smiles that onlookers never knew the meaning to.

Didn't they?

Despite the ever expanding grey area that I needed to figure out for myself, there was one thing I was absolutely, positively sure about. After this particular evening, Renata became an equal to me. Maybe not an exact parallel. Her situation growing up had different branches, different sets of variables than mine that led her to the person she was today, but the fact remained that we both knew what it was like to feel like the scum of the earth, and what is was like to feel alone and scared because of it.

That mid-October night didn't start out with me knowing what she was about to share with me. I didn't _really_ plan ahead on meeting her, nor did I purposely seek her out. Circumstances just came neatly into place.

I had no business leaving my apartment and aimlessly wandering the neighborhood, but I was having a restless night. Sleep wouldn't come to me for no other reason that it simply refused to take me tonight. A bracing stroll on an autumn evening seemed like something viable to do. Not productive, just something.

At 9:00 PM, Renata had to have been closing shop for the night. Chancing a walk by, just for the sake of habit, I took the familiar sidewalk to that tiny Greek shop.

Passing the alley just in time, I caught her (_her_, not a co-worker, not any other nighttime staff) yanking down the metal gate over the shop and snapping shut the industrial padlock. Serendipity, I suppose. I placed my hands in my coat pockets, minding my own business, waiting for an appropriate opening to get her attention. A trail of water, dark and shimmering like oil, seeped from the back alley's opening, draining into a sewer off the curb.

Standing upright, Renata spun and motioned to place her keys in her pocket when she glanced upward in my direction. Her soprano gasp pierced the still air. She wheeled back a step, pressing a hand to her chest.

Evidently my sudden appearance had scared her. I raised my hands immediately. "Whoa, whoa, relax, it's just me."

To be fair, in her eyes I imagine I must have looked predatory at first glance. All of my features were washed out in a spotlight of artificial orange, underneath the streetlamp hanging above our spot. The long shadow of the wooden telephone pole didn't help matters, as it cast an atmospheric streak of shadow across me, like some sort of branding that identified me as dangerous.

Renata's tense shoulders lowered by a margin. She squinted, peering questioningly at me. "Oswald? What are you doing here?" She looked over her shoulder, then to the keys in her hand, back to me.

I shrugged casually as if nightstalking Gotham's crumbling infrastructure was something I happened to do regularly. "Couldn't sleep."

"Oh. Something weighing on your mind? Do you need to talk?"

No...well, yes. Maybe.

"Nah." I shrugged. "Just...needed some air to clear my head."

Renata nodded understandingly. And just like that it suddenly happened. We were both thinking the exact same thing. I saw it in the way she looked at me. Her smile was putting too much effort into coming off as earnest but oblivious. We were both thinking about that little interlude under the hotel awning, and the question on both our minds was who was going to be the first to acknowledge it.

A skip of hope puttered somewhere in my chest. I anticipated for Renata to invite herself to walk with me so that I wouldn't seem too forward. I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I just felt lighter when she was around. My interactions with people in the past easily explained that: I simply attached myself to those who looked out for me. It wasn't a good habit. A sip or a taste of that rather addictive sensation should by all means have been good enough to satisfy, just to rid myself of the tiny, crawling urge, but that was never the case. I kept finding myself wandering back to Renata because, in the basest terms possible, she made me feel pleasant. An ego needs a good stroking every once in a while.

Oh, to hell with it.

"Would...would you like to join me?" I ventured, quickly thinking to slide my hands into my pockets to appear aloof. "Though I imagine you've probably got many other things to do at home."

Renata paused only a beat. "Yeah. I mean, no, yeah, sure," she said breathily, no doubt still trying to calm her racing heart. "I mean, _yes_, I wouldn't mind. Anywhere in particular?"

"Robinson Park isn't too far from here. It's not a bad place for a stroll, if you ask me."

Placing her keys in her pocket, she walked over and stepped in line right beside me, beaming sidelong. "Lead the way, then."

At the time I thought it was too easy, her agreeing to walk with me, alone, in the dead of night. In Gotham City, no less. I would find out days later that she did so because she was quite eager to sort out our _status,_ as it were. Not to mention the added comfort of the tube of mace—a gift from her father—sitting handy in her pocket in case we, or just she alone, found ourselves in a hostile situation. I had to commend her, she wasn't too sharp on picking up hints, but she did have enough mind to think ahead.

The cool night air was more refreshing than I thought it would be. The breeze was like a gentle caress. Wet gristle crunched under our shoes. Soon Renata and I fell in step, watching our shadows stretched long and bobbing at an angle ahead of us. I tried to think of a good conversation starter, something to ease into, but my mind was clouded with reliving that kiss under the awning. It was as though Renata's presence right beside me gave life to my memory, making the scene all the more vivid in my head.

"So, how have you been, Oswald?" she piped up first, relieving me of that duty. I faced her to realize she was already looking at me—positively, I might add, which was a good sign.

"Not bad, can't really report anything new. Yourself?" I countered politely.

"Ah, can't complain."

No doubt in my mind, this was going to be harder than I initially thought. However, we both seemed to be in such a pleasant enough mood that I didn't want to disrupt it with the pinprick of confrontation.

"I see you remembered a coat this time," I tried.

She laughed sheepishly in response.

The cracked sidewalk gave way to an empty four-way intersection. A crosswalk directly ahead lead to one of the many entrances of Robinson Park. Entering the masonry lightpost pillars serving as entry, our shoes crunched onto the gravel path. Our steps purposely slowed after that, meandering more than actually walking.

Lightposts lit the trail at uniform intervals, spreading even amounts of lamplight that flawlessly blended into the next. Many trees had shed the majority of their yellowed leaves, dappling the browning grass that was slowly being killed by frost.

"Hey," I spoke up softly, just wanting to make a sound to get her attention. "Thanks for stepping in that day."

Renata turned her attention to me. I couldn't help but think I had interrupted her musings.

"Oswald, you've already thanked me, you don't have to feel obligated to repay me. Unless that's why you asked me to tag along with you tonight. That's not what this is, is it?"

I detected a tone of hurt.

"No, no, nothing like that," I said quickly to quell her concerns. "I only want to take this opportunity to thank you better."

Renata looked puzzled. "Better? How can you thank me better?"

"By being sincere this time. I haven't known very many people in my life who would do what you did. So thank you."

She focused tightly on me now. Her expression almost looked suspicious, but not quite. "Then the people you've known are monsters if just telling some lowlife assholes to leave you alone is making you feel this indebted to me."

In all honesty I shouldn't have been encouraging her behaviour by acting grateful. Gotham City was not a forgiving place. However, while I have survived worse, I suppose I should have been a little more grateful that I didn't go home that day with a crushed orbital socket or an unhinged jaw. She deserved recompense for that, at least.

My face was heating. The embarassment of requiring another person's help was resurfacing.

Meanwhile Renata's expression had gone apprehensive. "Oswald, can I ask you something?"

I wasn't sure what to expect. "Of course."

"Does that kind of thing happen often? Getting beat up, I mean."

I shrugged, trying to play her seriousness off. "Pretty much my whole life, if you want me to be honest."

I didn't want to get into specifics, this didn't feel like the time nor the place. I was glad that it was just us two for the moment, I don't think I could stand the humiliation of another person knowing that being pummeled into the ground wasn't a rare occurence for me. The men and women at the top of Gotham's food chain pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, never letting minor obstacles impede their progress. If there was anything I could emulate from them, that would be it.

Renata's face softened. Her eyes roved me over as if I had pulled back a curtain and she was finally able to see me for the first time. "I'm sorry people treated you that way," she said. Glancing down at our hands, she reached and wrapped her fingers daintily over mine. "Very sorry."

I managed to keep my hand still, but what I really wanted to do was shake her off and change the conversation's direction. My willingness to approach this subject was stretched thin, there was really no point in reliving what I'd been through. It was all in the past, I learned from it, it's over. What more was there to say?

The pressure of Renata's fingers strengthened over mine. All I could hear was the atmospheric hum of the night. I think her touch was the only thing that kept me from floating away entirely into my own musings.

"I won't pretend to know what it must have been like for you," she said consolingly.

"And you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Forgive my forwardness, I mean no disrespect, but you wouldn't be this passionate about the subject if you weren't in some way affected by it at some point in your life. Am I right?"

Renata's mouth bobbed as she struggled to form words. Realizing speech was futile for the moment, she got quiet. My question had turned the tables so quickly that it seemed to derail her.

Finally, she spoke. "You're right. It is something that affects me personally."

"What happened?"

She smirked, cocking a coy eyebrow at me. "Oh, you're good, you know that? Fine, then. Now that we're sharing, it's only fair, I guess. Tell me when you get bored, alright?"

Choosing the next bench we came across, we both seated ourselves. What followed was a near half hour-long account of the worst event she could recall of what she endured through her own tormentors.

"As you've probably noticed, I'm not exactly thin," Renata began with a grimace, like a bad taste was left in her mouth after uttering the words. "I definitely wasn't in middle school either."

As Renata had disclosed to me, she had been largely overweight in her younger years. While that wasn't too hard to guess, judging from a more contoured, hourglass figure she sported now, from her account she had been quite pudgy and round during her junior high school years.

Thirteen at the time, everything came to a head when her regular tormentors, a group of three female classmates, took a prank too far.

* * *

The school day had been coming to a close. Most students had already filed out, heading for home. Renata was short on time to catch her bus because she was forced to serve a half-hour detention for being late that morning. Hurriedly collecting her backpack and shutting her locker, the three who she most dreaded to see were also leaving their Photography Club meeting.

Renata spotted them first. She sank her neck into her collar like a turtle and tried to move quickly past them. Suffice it to say, they wouldn't let her off easy that day.

"Hey, Fatty Renatty, how you doing?" drawled the brunette called Samantha in a mockingly pleasant tone.

"Fine," mumbled Renata, flinching from the sting of their favorite nickname.

"Where you going?"

"Home," she answered fleetingly. This response stood as an example to how much power they had over Renata. She would answer everytime, regardless of how much distance she wanted to put between them.

Samantha was the worst of the three, though that didn't make Sydni and Danielle better in comparison. Both girls were on the opposite spectrums of blond, one dishwater and one platinum respectively. Samantha was their idea girl, their instigator.

Renata recalled the next moment going by so fast that she was already wearing a mop as a wig by the time she registered what happened.

Sydni's long legs, useful for her role on the basketball team, overtook Renata. The blonde yanked open a supply closet parallel to the two of them. Suddenly feeling hands behind her shoulders, Renata was launched into the small room, crashed into cleaning supplies and stocking shelves, and suddenly everything was black.

The shrieking laughs of all three girls was muffled on the other side, but Renata heard their mockery as sharp as if the sounds were right in her ear. Scrambling to stand, Renata threw herself into the door, fumbling for a handle that wasn't there. The door only opened and locked from the outside. The darkness was absolute, save for a small rise at the bottom that allowed for a thin crack of light.

"Let me out! Please!" Renata wailed, seizing with the beginnings of panic.

"We're putting you on a diet, Ratty," chirped Samantha. "Maybe a few hours in there will keep you from stuffing your face for a little while."

"Or she'll just start eating the chalk," chimed in Sydni.

Renata clawed as if she could scratch right through the barrier. "P-Please, don't leave me in here," she cried.

Getting Renata to cry was the result the girls usually sought, and occasionally it worked. Whether it was mashing a wad of bubblegum into Renata's hair during class, or "accidentally" tripping her during gym and skinning her knees, they lived for the reaction. But this time was different. These were tears driven by fear, not the silent ones that made Renata run away. She didn't want to give them what they wanted, but there was some hope in that if Samantha, Danielle, and Sydni got what they were looking for, they'd cut the joke short.

"See you in a few hours. Do a few jumpingjacks if you get bored. Or make-out with the brooms, or something," jeered Samantha.

"No! No, please, don't go, don't go!" Renata sobbed. She didn't care that she was entirely dependant on the people who hated her, she was relying on them to free her. "You have to let me out!"

The snickering and squeaking of their shoes got more and more distant until it disappeared entirely. The halls were evidently empty, for nobody else heard her. Not a single janitor passed by, as that particular hall had already been cleaned.

Renata bashed her fists against the door until her bones throbbed and her skin stung. She screamed until her lungs ripped apart, hoping that the volume would carry over to the other side of the school if teachers were staying late to grade papers, or if the principal was still in his office. Renata soon found out that the door had been padlocked—she could hear the metallic pop following every assault on the door.

When nobody returned for her after twenty minutes, Renata curled up to the thin sliver of light on the floor, watching it for hope of seeing the double shadow of feet pass by, all whilst bawling into her crossed arms.

The school's overhead lights switched off two hours later, plunging her into darkness. Samantha, Sydni, and Danielle never came back. Renata crawled into a corner, feeling around for boxes to make a sort of fort around her. She imagined claws coming for her in the darkness, scraping blindly at her jacket. She wanted barriers on all sides to feel safe, for not being able to see sent her imagination to conjure shapes in the darkness. She curled her knees into her chest, using her backpack as a pillow.

Meanwhile, Renata's parents were hysterical that their only child never came home. Because she was only a susceptible pre-teen at the time, the police involved themselves immediately.

The way her parents told it to her, the two responding officers had to follow code and ask a series of questions involving Renata's last wherabouts, and if they knew whether or not she made it to school that morning.

Midnight had passed before the investigation was brought to the school grounds, to which Renata had long since exhausted herself to sleep. Several calls were made to key holders of the school. The investigation deemed it necessary to enter the building and review security footage of the school halls and attendance sheets to narrow and confirm a time and place of Renata's disappearance.

Her parents were ordered to stay home and wait to see if their daughter would come home voluntarily if she were able to.

In the early morning hours, Renata startled awake in her tiny prison when she heard her name being called.

"Renata?"

She was disoriented and hadn't a clue what time it was. It could have been the start of the next school day for all she knew. She stayed absolutely still, unsure if the calls were real or just a mental manifestation. A woman was calling her name. Not her mom, though, but that didn't matter, somebody was looking for her.

A surge electrified Renata's limbs and she sat up so quickly that spots of light danced in her vision. Pushing the box fort she made out of her way, she scrambled on all fours to the door. The voice was getting further away.

"Here!" she croaked. Her voice hadn't quite caught up. On her knees, she raised her fists high and bashed the door, smashing the boniest parts of her hands against it to make the most sound possible. "I'm in here, let me out!".

The woman must have doubled back because suddenly her voice was closer, right outside the door. "Oh honey, there you are! Your parents were so worried. Everything's going to be alright now, I'm a policewoman, okay? My name is Detective Sarah Essen. I'll get you out in a jiffy."

Clearly the woman had found the padlock when the door didn't open immediately. The crackle of a radio sounded and she said something into it, no doubt notifying her partner that Renata had been found alert and responding.

Renata buzzed with anticipation at finally being freed, but what she didn't know then was that cops didn't carry universal keys or lock picks with them at all times. Sarah was quiet, no doubt assessing the situation she was up against.

"I'm going to need you to be brave and hold tight for a few minutes, honey. It looks like I don't have a key for this lock. But I'm going to call someone who can unlock it, okay?" Sarah had to raise her voice a notch to be heard through the heavy-duty door, but still managed to keep her tone compassionate and soothing.

Renata swallowed her whimper. "Okay."

Another crackle of the radio and Sarah changed her tone to an official one as she contacted dispatch for a 24-Hour locksmith service.

"Don't leave me!" Renata yelled, in case the policewoman was already halfway down the hall.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart, I'm staying here. Right here with you until the locksmith comes." To the policewoman's credit, her voice still came from the same general area, she hadn't even motioned to abandon Renata.

Renata tried to unwind, but the tension of not knowing whether she was ever going to be discovered had seriously affected her. She had to keep reminding herself that the date was a Thursday when she was locked in, not a Friday which would lead to the weekend. It sent chills of anxiety whenever she thought about the school standing deserted for the entire weekend while she was trapped within it.

Sarah sat down on the floor. "Your name is Renata, right?" she asked.

"Uh huh."

"And what's your last name?" The child's last name had been exchanged to the police from her parents already, Sarah just wanted to ease Renata into speaking as a distraction.

"Laskaris."

"You have very unique names, Renata. You don't hear those very often in Gotham City. Are they Greek? I know your parents said they were originally from Greece."

"Um, my last name is, but my first name isn't really used a lot over there. I think that's what my mom told me."

"Is that right?"

Idle chit-chat made the time pass surprisingly fast. Sarah had distracted Renata enough to keep her occupied for such a time that Renata remarked on how quickly the locksmith arrived.

However, even though Renata was returned home _physically_ unharmed, the investigation wasn't over. Answers were still necessary to questions of who had sealed her in the building afterhours and if the school would be liable for neglect and emotional damages if a staff member was found guilty. After some coaxing, Renata finally spilled everything about the escalating bullying she'd been going through for years.

Samantha, Sydni, and Danielle's families were notified about the serious accusations. Fearfully, the girls claimed that they locked Renata in the supply room as a prank, they always intended to come get her within a half hour, but when the school's front doors were locked too, they could not enter again and were scared to notify anybody. So they didn't. When Renata heard their explanation, she could not discern whether their excuse was honest or fabricated, but it didn't matter, they had meant harm and the damage was done.

The three were suspended from school and Sydni was taken off the basketball team, but nothing more came of the incident.

Meanwhile, the trauma Renata experienced pulled her out of school for a week. Mr. and Mrs. Laskaris unregistered her within the month and she moved on to a new school.

* * *

"I know it doesn't sound like a very serious thing on paper, getting trapped in a room for several hours. I came out okay for the most part, I suppose, but that _fear_, that absolute hopelessness for those few hours when I didn't know what was going to happen to me, I can still remember it so clearly. And that those girls never cared what happened to me, that was the worst feeling of all. Like I didn't matter."

I saw the signs before the show even started. Renata's chin dimpled, tensing. Her lower lip protruded by a tiny measure and quaked before she mashed her upper lip over to control it.

I confess with no pretense, I am an emotionally blocked man. My father put a stopper to that early in my life. Surprisingly, what he did doesn't bother me as much as it used to. He got what was coming to him.

That isn't to say that I didn't feel some sort of bonding empathy to Renata's story, but my life-long training of inability to express those feelings kept me at bay. Unheard to her, I was begging in my mind like a stuck record for her not to do what I knew she was going to do. _Please don't, please don't..._

I've never known the proper etiquette to soothe a sobbing person. I clasped my hands in my lap, looking pensively at the ground, willing myself to not reflexively shrivel and brace my legs against her in avoidance, as if she were suddenly something disgusting and repulsive.

While I didn't—couldn't—say a thing to ease the situation, I conceded by simply sitting there, absorbing her words. Neutrality was my only tried and true method of feedback, the one I always fell back on when I simply didn't have an answer. Cliches weren't going to help her because they were never helpful at all.

__Kids are cruel.__

_Just ignore them._

_They're only jealous._

Excuses. People like Renata and I? We wished for _solutions_, and they never came, never when we needed them. We both had to uproot and rearrange our lives in order to accomodate those who found us problematic. Those who by all means had very little authority in our lives. Not knowing any better, we had given our taunters all the authority they needed, serving it up on a golden platter by way of taking their ridicule because we felt we had to.

And suddenly, Renata was not just a kind friend to me, but an equal. A victim of a society that shunned her.

Unlike me, however, she never adapted. It's the only reason why she went out of her way to chase off my attackers instead of staying silent and carrying on with her business. Truth be told, I wouldn't have helped someone like me if I stumbled onto a violent scene like she did. The sap on the receiving end would have probably had it coming.

Just like I did.

Renata sighed, her frustrated breath a steaming cloud rising in the chilled air. "You know, after years and years you think you'd be so far removed from these things that it doesn't make sense to still be hurt by them. But it does. It does still hurt in a sense."

"It never really goes away," I offered, concentrating especially hard on a dead leaf beside my polished shoe. Those were the first words I'd said in a long while.

"Not really, no," she agreed, looking down at her feet as well, crossing her arms for warmth and leaning her elbows on her knees.

Life never afforded me the greatest start either. I could never make it as a bruiser, an intimidator, a seducer. I wasn't built for that. However, people like us still had a fighting chance to stand proudly on our own two feet. There were two things our experiences could teach us. Strategy and cunning. Renata had yet to tap into her potential. Meanwhile I had already accepted my role as thus.

I knew of one thing I could do for the moment, though. One that I hoped could subdue her building emotion and help her comprehend that she wasn't alone, or more importantly, that I understood. A bundle of nerves knotted in the pit of my stomach, but I didn't want to hesitate like last time. All I hoped for was that I silently had her permission.

My fingers slithered over hers like a canopy.

* * *

**A/N:** **Hey DC, if you need anybody to adapt the T.V show into a series of novel tie-ins, call me ;) C'mon, Sleepy Hollow and Supernatural have tie-in novels, why not Gotham?**

_Guest 1_ \- Oh dear, you're not registered on the site so I couldn't personally send a message to you. If it's alright with everyone, I'll answer unregistered reviews here. Just skip if you feel it disrupts the flow from chapter to chapter.  
Not to worry, Guest! OOCness is one of my berserk buttons in fanfiction, I stress great importance in keeping in line with the character's established personalities. I felt safe with applying this type of story to Penguin though, because canonically in the comics and Animated Series he has fallen in love before, and some of those women had been kind enough to reciprocate. I would never write a story like this with The Joker, or Zsasz, or Killer Croc or anything. Sorry if you felt the page breaks were disruptive. You're right, they were meant to signify time lapses. I will say that it kind of hurt me as a writer to have to use so many of them, I usually stress to myself to take things slow and let the audience spend some time with the characters first, but I feel that this story, or at least the type of story I'm trying to make, is more suited to more of a flashback type narrative rather than in real time and in sequence as it's happening. Ultimately I feel as though this story isn't necessarily about the development of the relationship itself, it's how Oswald deals with it when confronted with the possibility of one.  
Thank you, though, for voicing your concerns, I really appreciate your honesty :)

_Aaron_ \- That's very sweet, thank you! I consider it the greatest compliment when someone thinks I write well :D

_Table_ \- I chalk it up to that Penguin might tend to gravitate towards people who show him at least a small smidgen of respect. And okay, yeah, that little thing about willing to lower the ransom kind of got a dark chuckle out of me.

_Cee_ \- It's fantastic to know if I'm presenting his character correctly, that's great to hear :D

_tara_ \- I will, thank you for leaving your comment


	4. Reflection

Dammit. What was I doing?

The morning after was a sobering experience, bringing to me a flurry of questions and second guesses I should have asked myself long ago.

Our night ended with us parting ways, and I had done the chivalrous thing by walking her home to an ancient brick rowhouse in an older area, to which she thanked me and gave me a parting embrace that lasted just a few seconds too long. Longer than considered normal for mere friends. My own return to my apartment is something I can barely recall, I was on some sort of high, practically floating rather than walking; put-together on the outside, but positively buoyant on the inside.

Now that last night's encounter had time to stew, hindsight helped me see that I was making a huge mistake, the same one I'd made with every other girl I'd taken a fancy to during the course of my life—placing them on a pedestal.

I rose groggily and sat at the edge of my bed to slouch and contemplate. Periwinkle light peered through the window parallel to me. Even then, it was bright enough to make me blink rapidly. The sun was rising but hadn't yet peeked over the horizon yet.

Surely Renata was different from the others, though. For one, she reciprocated my interest. At least, everything appeared so. I thought long and hard about whether I was attracted to her simply because she respected me, or if I was legitimately smitten, come Hell or high water.

Floodgates opened in my mind. Thoughts that were once dormant now rushed forth highly pressurized after having been waiting all this time for a prime opportunity. Thoughts that I was aware of but chose to repress.

Renata was all wrong for me.

My mother would probably offer one of her many quaint idioms in a situation like this, telling me that opposites attract, but that seemed nauseatingly trite. I doubled over, holding my hands behind my neck and massaging the nape of my scalp in thought. Was Renata after something from me? It wouldn't be the first time I've fallen for such a trick. Anna-Jane Kopecky in eighth grade pretended to be nice to me in exchange for sneaking her and her friends into free movies, back when I had a part-time job sweeping up discarded popcorn at the neighborhood theater.

At thirteen years old, I considered Anna-Jane the most beautiful creature on the planet. I would have done anything for her. That red-gold hair shimmering alight in the sun, and that easy, frictionless smile that made everything right with the world. Even her braces added a literal sparkle to her overall aura. I was young and naive enough to think somebody of her stature could have legitimate interest in me, that she was different from those who wouldn't give me the time of day. Someone special.

I hadn't yet learned my tough life lessons.

Needless to say, that year ended badly. My mother's comfort was all I had, and I was convinced forevermore that the only woman who could ever truly love me was the most selfless one I knew.

Then again, in the case of Renata possibly seeking advancement, I presently had nothing to my name but a few fancy clothes brought from home, a flaking one-room shelter, and the evaporating residuals of care money my mother insisted I take. There was little material Renata could feasibly want from me.

My desperate nature needed to be contained. Getting my hopes up was an invitation to fooling myself again.

No.

I placed my forehead on my knees, the war inside my head crippling my body. No, she did like me, she _did_. Renata wasn't Anna-Jane. Maybe I meant something to this one. I wasn't defined in Renata's eyes as just a poor, wandering soul she tried to rescue. The fact that she went out of her way to talk to me confirmed that, didn't it?

But it still felt _wrong_ for her to like me by authentic means. What had I done differently this time?

I'd long given up on the idea of finding the romantic side of love for myself. Or, in terms, a _mate_, if my cringe-inducing Penguin nickname ends up following me to the grave. I suppose it is a blessing that I wasn't born with my fingers fused together in flipper-like appendages. If there was truly someone out there for everybody, then in my case it seemed like too much work to go searching for such an elusive woman.

If I had been given a choice and had seen Renata's attributes listed on paper (as if I were in any position to audition potential ladyfriends) hers would have been the shredder's cast-off without the dignity of a second glance. She was unaware of the blood coursing within Gotham's body. A naivete so deeply-rooted that I had seen first-hand that most needed it beaten out to make them see the truth.

But that was how far Renata had seeded through my skin and further down; I _cared_ if some stranger, learned in the language of the streets, physically educated her on how Gotham City worked—its corruption, its non-lawful judgement, punishment, and its hierarchy, all in one powerful lesson that would leave her bloodied and broken in the gutter. I _cared_ if she felt pain. And why? Because she was _kind_ to me. Of all the mindless, reflexive reasons in the world...

I buried my face into my hands for some support, my back-and-forth thoughts were exhausting me. The 9:00 AM subway train rattled noisily next door—everyday like clockwork—drowning everything out for a little while, enough to help me concentrate and temporarily clear my head. I never said my apartment was in the respectable area I wanted it to be, but money makes the world go 'round, and for the moment I didn't have enough to budge a pebble. Someday I would. Someday.

I sighed. I needed some air and a strong espresso. The European-style cafe on the street corner was a quiet place I could mull over whilst people-watching. It was something I liked to do. I liked being aware of the goings-on of strangers.

I started unbuttoning my silk pajama shirt to get properly dressed. Hopefully I would have sorted out my tumultuous feelings before I saw Renata again tonight.

A sputter of excitement kickstarted my heart.

* * *

**A/N: Screw it, I'm going all in. **_**Necessary Evil**_** has now been extended to seven chapters. All thanks to you beautiful readers. I just can't say no to you all! To a limit, at least, I know when a story has overstayed it's welcome ;) But I think it's feasibly workable to make seven.**

**But honestly, this story will need to come to an end eventually :P The longer it stays, the worse the conclusion will be recieved. There's only so much build-up you can do before the ending becomes lackluster. But for now, this is my promise to you, readers. **_**Necessary Evil**_** will stick around just a little longer than intended.**

**I am still just flabbergasted (what an odd word) at the response to this story *clutches hair* It's beyond anything I could have expected or hoped for!**


	5. Confrontation

Later that evening, an hour after night had fallen, I arrived at the very same park bench we occupied a day ago. I told Renata to meet me there, and I hope she understood the sentiment of my choice. The air was bitter on this night, but the windchill was nonexistent and the stars were in view. Picturesque and brisk.

I couldn't tell if the jolts in my chest were my body's response to warm itself, or anxiety.

I planned a little surprise for her tonight. One not overly affectionate, but thoughtful. Perfectly neutral. Even platonic if need be. One that showed my appreciation, but by not being too presumptuous. Some way to ease the speed of our burgeoning friendship so that it may give me time to think and step back.

Or was I the only party who saw this as something with the potential to be more? I had no concrete answers. My goal for tonight was to simply be quick on the draw to collect myself if she stated during the evening that our relationship was nothing further than two people joined by an incident and a similar childhood experience. I knew it would have come to this eventually, anyway.

A tingle stung my lips. That kiss, all with its own unique intensity, burned in my memory, and my own heart betrayed me. It heaved inside my ribcage, as if weighed down by a steel ball.

Couples and late-night joggers passed me under the park's abundant lamplight. They were a welcome distraction and I concentrated on the movement around me rather than that which I didn't want to confront. At the time I convinced myself I was sincerely interested in the orange and red reflectors of a passing bicyclist's wheels. That feeling was so strong that I could almost believe it now.

I crossed my arms over my buttoned, black, wool felt coat to radiate a tad more heat in my core. The coat once belonged to my eldest brother, but he had very little use for it now. Monstrously cruel as he was, at least he had good taste.

Within five minutes Renata emerged from the rise to my right, keeping to the gravel path's edge to make way for joggers and bicyclists. She was distinct in a plum colored puffer jacket, hands tucked into the pockets. I may have stood too soon to greet her, she still had a thirty foot trek ahead.

The chill had turned her cheeks rosy, which served to brighten her grin. I was suddenly struck with the realization that I hadn't rehearsed anything to say.

"Whew, bracing, isn't it?" she said as she met up with me, shoulders hunched tight. Of course she meant the weather.

"If you prefer another time, we can reschedule, or-"

"No, no need, now is a perfectly good time. A little cold never hurt me, I don't mind."

"Neither do I."

I risked a polite smile, which she returned.

Her dark brown hair—black in the night—was free this evening and, noticeably, smoother than normal. Her eyes seemed boldened somehow, and that's when I detected the simplistic outline of eyeliner.

"So! What's this surprise all about?" she inquired brightly.

The idea of knowing something someone else didn't thrilled me. "A small token."

"Again with the payback? Oswald, I told you, I'd sooner walk on broken glass than accept something from you."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I'll be tempted."

I let her harmless threat slide. "I can promise in all honesty that this meeting of ours isn't about that day. I thought perhaps a treat was deserved between the both of us. Would that be okay with you?"

Her expression softened. "Oswald, you know you don't have to ask my permission to do something nice. That's very sweet."

I pretended to be unfazed and shrugged off her comment when in truth I might have been a little flattered. "Shall we, then?"

She smirked in good humor. "Alright then, keep your secret. I'll trust you."

Side by side we set off for the exit, me just a couple inches further to guide her. We easily blended with the other park goers. I had the smallest urge to offer my left arm to Renata, but that would have implied we were of equal level to the sweethearts and lovers doing the same. No, best to maintain our supposed neutrality.

Leaving the park behind, we passed three city blocks before arriving to our destination: a mid-upscale restaurant. Nothing too fancy. It did have a sidewalk patio complete with sun umbrellas afterall, but certainly a place that deserved smartly-dressed attire.

"Can't say I've ever been here before," said Renata, reading the elaborately lit sign above us.

Neither had I, but a little good luck came my way in the form of a waiter employed there. And by good luck I mean that he owed me a favor. A free meal was a good place to start, but I think many would agree that a one-time discount didn't _quite_ make up for agreeing to stay silent about the little counterfeit operation. Situated in his place of employment's basement, no less.

Now that we were seated in a red velvet, half-circle booth, Renata appeared mildly bothered scanning the laminated, leather-bound menu.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Just...everything looks a little pricey." She suddenly realized the subtext of her words. "I-I mean, I would never assume or pry into your financial situation, or anything," she stuttered quickly.

"Renata, look at me."

She did as told.

"For tonight, prices are invisible to you."

Renata paused uncertainly. "Oswald, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"But you didn't. I offered."

"And you're sure it's okay?"

"Absolutely."

She seemed appeased, but the discomfort hadn't entirely disappeared from her face. I suppose it was one step in the right direction. Maybe monetary gain wasn't her goal.

"Thank you. For agreeing to meet me again," I said. "I appreciate your company."

I noticed her reddened forehead above the menu. I glanced at the ceiling, wondering if she happened to be seated underneath an air conditioner vent. The air around me didn't feel cold, though.

"I appreciate you inviting me," she replied from behind her menu.

I refrained from confronting her just yet about...the issue we needed to discuss. It would be impolite to question her in the midst of distractions, and she seemed more preoccupied with dinner choice than anything else. No matter. The delay would give me time to plan a strategy.

Just as planned, the waiter I struck a deal with greeted us. Joel was his name. I played it casual, acting as though I'd never met the young man before. Likewise, he wasn't a bad actor himself, even if he did seem more attentive to Renata so as to avoid me as much as he could get away with. There was no sense in letting her in on this, it was a matter young Joel would have rather kept from as many ears as possible, and I was honorable enough to oblige.

I requested the citrus-glazed salmon, while Renata chose the shrimp linguine. I couldn't help but notice how her meal was one of less costly ones, barring appetizers. Could have been coincidence, but it would have been rude of me to inquire.

* * *

We were an hour in and I hadn't even attempted to breach the subject of why I wanted to talk to her in the first place. Procrastination was my strong suit tonight, and it normally never was.

* * *

In-between some carefree banter in which I found out her parent's occupations and life in Greece, our dinner dwindled, and I still never brought it up.

I left the booth to find Joel, pretending that I was going to pay, just to keep up appearances. The kid would take care of everything, as promised.

We left the restaurant well-fed and in good spirits. The evening was still young and we both weren't quite ready to go our separate ways just yet. Walking off our meal sounded like a good plan.

Idly chatting about nothing of great importance, we followed the sidewalk, lit by restaurants and shops that got fancier and fancier the further we got. Someday I would make myself worthy of walking along this street. I would make doubly sure of that.

"I don't know," Renata was saying. "If I had the choice, I'd love to visit Spain one day. I hear the-"

A shrill, one-note whistle pierced the air, the kind meant to signal somebody's attention. By reflex, Renata and I looked over our shoulders to find a valet with greased-back hair on his smoke break, leaning back on a spotlessly red, 1950's-style oldsmobile. Someone else's, most likely. His eyes were concentrated on Renata.

"I'm digging the bounce you got back there, sweet cheeks," he called, nodding indulgently and taking another drag.

Renata faced forward immediately, humiliation evident on her face. She ignored the man and started forward again.

I stayed put.

"I'm sorry, sir," I returned, under the influence of compulsion. "Would you care to repeat that? I don't think I heard you correctly."

I was willing to let him believe I was giving him the benefit of a doubt, but I was absolutely positive I hadn't misheard. My voice is breathy and weak on the worst of days, but a hardened edge laced every word I said right then.

Renata realized what I was doing and doubled back. "Oswald, it's okay," she began, almost looking at the valet apologetically. Her nerve appalled me. She motioned to take my hand, but I promptly slid it out of her reach.

"No. No, it's not. Sir, you are going to look this woman straight in the eye and you are going to apologize to her."

The cigarette hung limply in the cretin's mouth, like he was mildly confused. "You being serious right now?" he said. "Jeez, dude. Sorry, whatever, calm down."

That was the best we were going to get. He wasn't threatened by me in the slightest. Maybe he even considered my challenge comical and would laugh about it to his friends later, but I got what I came for. Glaring, I wrapped my arm possessively over Renata's shoulders and steered her to continue our intended path.

I heard a scoff behind me.

"Why would I even want your chick anyway?" the valet called after us. "She's so fat she waddles like a penguin!"

The quip sent a massive shockwave. I felt everything, from Renata's stricken flinch beside me, to a triggered, insatiable rage in my gut. Her hand was released instantly. Renata gasped and swiped for my arm, but she only grabbed the air I displaced.

The valet's nose was a spurting red fountain before his body hit the sidewalk. Kneeling over him and grabbing a fistful of red silk waistcoat, I jabbed my elbow to the sky and launched my fist into his smug face.

"Stop, Oswald! Stop it!" Renata begged.

I only had a vague notion of her precense, I was a man possessed.

The valet only now seemed to be coming to his senses after the daze of the initial punch wore off. By then I already got plenty of hardhitters past his defences. The damage I inflicted was exhilerating. I wanted to hear bones crack, I wanted to hear his cries _beg_ me to stop. More punishment, he deserved _more_. One after the other led to another, and another.

Renata attempted to encircle me around the middle and haul me off herself, but I overpowered her, I would not be moved. Next she attempted to catch my arm before it met it's target another time, but wasn't quick enough on the draw.

"That's enough!" she screamed.

Something about her proximity to my ear snapped me to my senses. Like a machine put to a halt, I came around and stopped, but my fist stayed hovered in the air, curled and ready, twitching to resume. I was huffing savagely through my nose from the effort, but I suppose enough really was enough. I rose to my feet, holding the valet in my warning gaze. The man was still conscious and stared up at me, horrified.

That fear was satisfying. Intensely satisfying.

"You're crazy, man!" he yelled, clumsily standing and holding his gushing nose. He bolted, shouting over his shoulder. "You're a goddamn _freak_!"

The scuffle attracted some attention. I noted more than a few gawkers, but in typical Gotham fashion they did nothing.

I felt hands clutch my elbow.

"What did you do, Oswald?!"

Adrenaline still burned my limbs and I actually needed a moment to remember what set me off. "He was out of line," I said flatly.

"But what if that guy needs an ambulance? What if you do?"

I felt a small pang of offense when she mentioned the valet before me. Knowing that he was long gone, I faced her. "Why did you take that?" I demanded quietly.

"Take _what_?" Her voice was high-pitched, clearly rung from what she had just witnessed.

"He insulted you."

Renata had completely intended to walk away and let that guy have power over her. Her hurt was real, I felt it when her fingers tightened around mine and her chin sank into her collar. Our small audience was dispersing now that they'd seen what appeared to be just a standard couple's tussle.

"What he said wasn't a big deal," insisted Renata. She looked very anxious, looking up and down the street. "I don't want the police to get involved."

I cradled my throbbing hand to my chest, mildly peeved at her worry being centered on all the wrong points. "The police aren't coming," I told her. "The GCPD considers things like this as minor street disputes." Something was to be said for human pride as well. Most never reported their injuries during attacks or brawls for fear of being seen as weak. GCPD files, signed confessions, and reports had ways of getting out into the open.

I couldn't kid myself, either, I know the only way I singlehandedly won that fight was simply because I caught the idiot off-guard and gained the upperhand advantage early. Homicide Unit would have had to shovel what was left of me off the sidewalk had circumstances been different.

"Oh, sweetheart, your hand," said Renata, spotting my stiff, red-smeared knuckles.

My body unwound at the sound of her concern, and for a fleeting moment I felt no pain at all. _Sweetheart_?

Ignoring the valet for the time being, Renata gingerly reached for my arm, unfolding it for a better look. She sighed heavily. Clearly she wasn't pleased with my actions, but sympathy was overriding her displeasure.

"We need to get some ice on that," she said. "My place isn't far, come on."

I knew better than to dawdle. Judging by the short length of her chin to her chest, she wanted to get away from onlooker's stares as quickly as possible. If only invisibility were so easy...

The journey was a quiet one, but not because of any animosity between us. There was simply nothing to say. Perhaps she was even trying to rehearse something to say to me later. Maybe she was scared of me, and that was something I didn't want.

I admit, I was almost offended that she didn't seem to be taking kindly to my defending her. However, I was still trying to figure out for myself just what exactly it was that set me off: the mean-spirited jab at Renata, or the mention of 'penguin'.

I want to make it absolutely clear, I do not become a mindless, lycanthropic animal at the mention of the word. My mind is clear and my thoughts are stable when I hear it. It's the anger, the memories it fills me with, when it's meant as an insult. The way I see it, I'm still leagues more civilized, even when angry, than those who dare use that word against me.

The valet's choice in words were clearly accidental, he couldn't have known, but alas, the word 'penguin' wasn't what set me off as much as I thought it did at first. It has earned my deep loathing, but I acknowledge that I can let it slide off my back if I so choose.

Renata bought me to the same shabby townhouse from yesterday. Entering by key, she switched on the dim lights in the entrance and told me to come inside. Indoors was just as run-down as the outside, but it wasn't at all unliveable. Care and devotion was put into decoration, consisting of family pictures, modest but functional furniture, a threadbare rug in the living room, and a clean though dull hardwood floor.

Renata shrugged her jacket off and placed it on a hook, inviting me to do the same. She crossed the living room and switched on the kitchen light. "I actually live here with my parents, but you don't have to worry about making noise, they're in Greece right now. There's a bathroom just to your left under the stairs. You can rinse off the blood there."

I obeyed. Running my fist under the tap, the blood appeared to solely be the valet's. There wasn't a single open wound on my knuckles, but they were swollen with an ugly, building bruise. Toweling off and leaving the cramped, sloping bathroom, I found her rummaging back and forth in the kitchen.

"You're not second guessing me, are you?" I asked, standing on the threshold.

Renata paused. I had redirected the conversation yet again, asking something she wasn't ready for.

"I'm not dangerous," I insisted. "I promise, don't be scared of me. Please."

I didn't add the part of me that admitted to being a little scared of losing her trust. Maybe I was capable of hurting people who deserved it, but not her, never her. I realize now that I probably should have said that out loud, but I didn't.

"I'm not scared of you. I just..." She'd been halfway through putting together an ice-pack and was absent-mindedly shifting it in her hands. "You seem to attract a lot of trouble. Deja vu, huh?" She tried for a light-hearted smile, but there was no humor in it. She was of course referring to the day we first met.

"Trouble usually seems to find me," I said.

"Do you usually have a sensitivity to these kinds of things?"

"That idiot offended you. I think it was uncalled for. Don't ever think that I'm mad at you. Maybe you don't see it, Renata, but I...hold you in high regard."

If I were any good at noticing hints at the time, I could have deciphered then and there when Renata's eyes sparked just before my pause, and then the tiny deflation afterwards, as if she had expected me to say something else. My comment seemed to stay in the air, though, and her smile in response was quite genuine. Overcome, she placed the ice pack on the counter. Before I could even prepare, she bounded over to me and wrapped her arms around my neck in an embrace.

Not many people know that hugs are dangerously powerful over me. I received so few outside of my mother, and I could pretend that they were inconsequential, that they didn't matter, that they were only hugs. But that never explained away the warmth that would start deep in my core and spread so pleasantly throughout my body whenever one, however rare, happened to me. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I was almost shaking.

My senses became hyper-aware. Every sensation increased tenfold; my sight gained tunnel-vision clarity, and Renata's gentle perfume ravaged my nose. I was at a complete loss as to where to place my hands, they hovered awkwardly, seizing after receiving no instruction. Apprehensively, I closed my arms as best I could around Renata.

In a way, a hug is more complicated than a kiss. I settled on enclosing my arms around her rib cage, the perfect midway point.

"I know what you meant to do, Oswald, I know," she said into my shoulder once she felt my physical response. Her fingers adjusted in-between my shoulder blades, sending a swooping tingle down my spine. "And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. I just don't want people getting hurt. Least of all you."

I closed my itching eyes for a few brief seconds, drinking in the feeling of her hair against my cheek, the warmth of her body seeping through my sweater. I didn't answer. How could I answer? I just wanted desperately to tighten my hold and submerge myself in the comfort of her body.

Knowing, though, that I had to let go eventually, I was reluctantly the first to part, and she followed.

"You have a good heart," she said, smiling and holding my chin with her thumb and forefinger. "I know you do." She let go and snatched the ice pack from the counter. "Come on, we can watch T.V. for a little bit."

Leading me into the living room and settling onto the couch, she switched on the television. I lowered next to her, and she took my hand gingerly and pressed the ice pack to my knuckles. I was perfectly capable of doing it myself, but the world would have to have been under extraterrestrial attack before I'd stop her. Eventually, she would relinquish and leave the job to me, anyway. The channel was switched to some classic station showcasing canned-laugh sitcoms from the 70's, but I'd be hard-pressed now to name it.

Most would raise an eyebrow upon hearing that a mid-twenty-something still lived with their parents, but I really didn't fare much better. I'd only recently broken free of my mother's grip. It must be noted, I love the woman to death, and after the tragic, _tragic_ accidental death of my dear father, my mother was heartbroken. When I went from fourth child to only child, we became near inseparable.

But that was a long time ago and the city was calling me. I knew she was strong enough to be on her own. She would not budge from her ancient, suburban manor chock full of memories of when our family was whole.

If you ask me, things got better once we weren't.

She wouldn't be able to keep the home for much longer at any rate. My father's estate had been drying up with each passing year. The Cobblepot title still had valuable property to its name, but my mother would have to be threatened with living in a cardboard box before she would put any up for sale. Once I got a job good enough to brag about, the first thing I would buy for her would be a well-to-do apartment in the city, to be closer to me.

Renata shifted next to me, bringing me back to consciousness. Without warning, she leaned in of her own volition, placing her hand right over my shoulder.

I instantly felt the heat of her palm radiating through the cable-knit sweater I wore. My entire body seized at her closeness. I cast my gaze to the ceiling for some sort of visual anchor to keep me still. I hadn't the slightest clue what to do. Even my bones felt like they were curling with a sudden bout of anxiety. My lungs constricted and I suddenly remembered that breathing was an integral part of living. With such pin-point precision that I never even knew I had, I fought to regulate my breaths as I would normally, mechanically, unsuspiciously, as if her body near mine had no effect on me whatsoever, even despite the maddened pulsating of my heart surely giving me away. _In...out...in..._

"Oswald?"

"Hm?"

"I said did you want something to eat, maybe drink? I can make a quick pot of spaghetti, or there's ice cream in the freez-"

"No," I said a little too quickly. "No, no, that's alright. You're all I need. I-I mean, this is all I need, I'm fine, sitting here."

Maybe it was the atmospheric lighting, maybe it was the emotional boost of having somebody to call mine, but in the bluish glow of the T.V, I found her intoxicating to look at. The slope of her nose, the apple of her cheeks, the doe quality of her eyes, the clean line of her jaw...

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

She was of a certain type, the easily seen-through person who believed wholeheartedly in textbook good. The type of good that belonged in a snowglobe, idyllic and untouchable. The fact that she remained this way even after bearing witness to society's cruelties remained a mystery to me, one I almost wanted to study.

I acknowledge this outlook's appeal and it's continued presence in the world, but it isn't practical, it isn't applicable, and it isn't what Gotham City ran on. She wanted Gotham to be 'better', but people like her never realize that the city is fine just the way it is. One simply had to know how to navigate it, thus staying out of trouble. Gotham was a place of character.

Renata was still wrong for me in every way possible, and yet at the same time, I was addicted, caught in her gravitational pull of acceptance and the rare sense that I was worth more than what people saw. That a chance, however rare, was still possible.

Suddenly I found that her vocal answer wasn't quite necessary anymore.

A question loomed forward, somewhere from that doubtful, shadowy place where all my inhibiting thoughts were born: Could I give up Renata if I wanted to?

* * *

**A/N: It's official. **_**Necessary Evil**_** has become my most successful story on my account. This is such a thrill to be writing this, I'm absolutely loving it! Oh, your reviews, favorites, and follows motivate me in ways you guys can't possibly know. They're providing so much insight, I adore hearing your thoughts everybody :D Don't be afraid to be honest, you're helping me become a better writer. I seriously want to avoid making this story nauseating, or even worse, **_**boring**_**.**

_Em_ \- Oh shucks, a lovely writer?! You're too kind! I just write what I feel. Makes me giddy as all get out when people respond positively to it.


	6. Gifts

My head must have fallen forward unsupported because I was suddenly startled awake. The T.V. was the first thing to catch my eye. I hooked onto the movement without really taking context in, waiting until my brain attempted to orient itself. An extended second was all it took to recognize my surroundings and recall that I was in Renata's living room.

Glancing to my left, I found her curled up on the opposite end of the couch, her shoulder and head supported on the armrest. The couch was a three-seater, but she managed to squeeze herself onto one cushion, bunching her limbs together.

I wasn't sure who had fallen asleep first, but the bleak indigo light filtering through slats in the window shades told me the time was very early, maybe a full hour before dawn.

I felt perhaps I'd overstayed my welcome. Renata had surely been too polite to stir me when the late hour approached.

Using the T.V's glow to find my way, I gingerly rose to my feet, careful not to disturb the entire sofa. Tugging and straightening my rumpled clothes, I navigated the narrow path between her and the coffee table, heading for the hook carrying my coat. Although, I couldn't resist sneaking a look at her below me as I passed.

One arm hugged across her sternum and wrapped itself protectively over her ribs. Her head was sloped forward, chin resting atop her heart. She would wake up with a monstrously stiff neck if kept in that pose, but I would have rather not risked rousing her by repositioning her head. The inclination to plant a leaving kiss on her forehead, like some sort of captivated lovesick hero from the movies, came to mind, but the gesture would be absurd. She'd surely wake, and displays of affection felt strange and foreign to me.

Our previous spontaneous kiss under the hotel awning had been hormonal magnetism, something I didn't have much experience in to recognize the signs before engaging, but I knew better now. I still wonder, though, if that knowledge would have stopped me anyway.

I didn't even know if her sleeping patterns were light or heavy. Heat rose from my collar at the implication that if I found out that type of information, that would have placed me somewhere intimately close to her. That kind of thinking was too far ahead, too presuming, too soon.

Head low, I shuffled to my coat and slipped it on. While adjusting it over my body, I looked over my shoulder at Renata again. She hadn't moved an inch. Her shoulder rose and fell rhythmically in trance-like breathing.

The house key was lying on a side table, right where she placed it last night. This neighborhood was sketchy at best. It was a bit discomforting to know her house, and she herself, would be vulnerable once I left. Turning the front doorknob slowly to soften the click, I slinked outside. Shaking off the sudden temperature drop, I closed the door behind me equally as carefully. Locking from the outside, I then slipped the key under the crack at the bottom where hopefully she would find it sitting on the welcome mat.

Turning around and taking a break to absorb the enchanting scene outside, I used the door as a support, leaning my head back onto it, waiting for the blood flow to get started in my legs and carry me home. The whispery morning breeze was like a cool, gentle hand on my exposed throat.

This moment stands out in my memory because it was the pinpoint where everything I'd been experiencing in the past month suddenly became clear to me. It was official. I had fallen, and I fell hard. In like, in lust, in love, what did it matter? I was in a euphoric state brought on by a single person. A woman who didn't recoil at the sight of me, where _'creep' _and _'ugly' _never entered vocabulary when addressing me, where I didn't feel like a snivelling mortal attempting to obtain the affections of an unreachable goddess.

I massaged my eyes to rub away the exhaustion. I pondered hard about why I turned on Renata for not defending herself last night. Really hard. The answer was very clear to me, though. For that was one more reason we were different—she continued to be a victim.

Being accustomed to it did not excuse it. I refuse to play victim. Hardship was a reluctant struggle to say the least, but ultimately they became necessary learning experiences, and I've become smarter for them. Dare I say, I may even know these streets better than the city's very own organized underworld now. Little time is given for sympathy.

A couple women passively caught my eye in-between middle school and now, but Anna-Jane Kopecky was the catalyst all those years ago, the one who made me swear off the possibility of love forever. Though, she hadn't directly been the one to utterly destroy me during those vulnerable pre-teen years. It had been her friends. All she did was merely agree with them. Still, it did nothing to erase the humiliation and enduring feelings I simply couldn't turn off.

I fell for Anna-Jane's sugary seduction in the way only a thirteen year old could. I had thought the method of going out of your way to please was what all normal couples did, that it was supposed to be an uphill climb on a bicycle to impress. With Renata, everything had been such an easy progression. Too easy. This couldn't have been typical.

Admittedly, my social skills are inept. As a child, life at home was not the best teacher. By age seven I grew restless and wanted to socialize. My mother, against her better judgement, just wanted what I wanted, and so, I got to go to an actual school for a couple years. Maybe if I extended myself to others they would reciprocate in kind, maybe I could finally make a friend besides the pigeons in the rooftop coop. Typical child-like optimism. I was just too good of a target for mockery. My awkward gait, the beaky nose that had grown before my face could catch up, my pallid complexion due to a weak immune system...

My three older brothers were Adonis and Narcissus reborn, a standard I could not achieve when I entered this world. The cards were stacked against me right from the start. Even though my brothers screamed their tiny lungs out, they were blazingly pink, healthy, and robust; the perfect babies. My father Tucker Cobblepot was so proud.

Then I arrived. Bluish, veiny, misshapen, and as quiet as Sunday Mass. Instead of the beautiful button noses my brothers sported, mine was flattened, overly generous, and downturned. Despite the doctor's assurances that my head would form into a normal shape on it's own eventually, among other irregularities, the first impression was done. Not even a minute old and I had already experienced rejection.

Gertrude Cobblepot's heart was too big, too generous to see anything but another beautiful baby boy. My father, however, remained unmoved. I looked nothing like he had envisioned, and for that reason I was the son that shouldn't have been. The Cobblepot name would be an ashamed attachment to my identity.

Father's affectionless attitude extended to my brothers by way of exposure to his example. Being young boys, they followed without question as to why, all they saw was what my father saw—something that wasn't like them, therefore didn't belong. My mother was not ignorant of their treatment, but she did her best to lead her own example and openly show me love. It never caught on.

While growing up it was only at Mother's insistence that Robert, William, and Jason play with me. When she was out of range, however, they would continue their games and abandon me. Sometimes in the woods behind our home.

Other times they would make an exception to willingly include me, and I would only be too happy to oblige. I don't know why I always jumped at the chance, because all I became was the scapegoat or prop when they needed one—the horse when they played Knights (even though I was too small for Robert's longer legs), or the stowaway brought before the captains to be served punishment. William was an especially rough pitcher.

As third-born, Jason was more of a lackey than anything, but still just a peg above my level.

The only time I felt semi-wanted was when they would argue over whose turn it was to ride the horse.

Birds were my only friends, mainly the doves and pigeons we kept in the rooftop coop. My nickname was born partly from that. It started with my brothers because I was abnormally short as a child. I hit all developmental growths at late stages and could never quite catch up. The beaky nose added to the illusion. The final reason that made the name stick? I was the only one of my friends that could not fly.

The bullying reached it's apex at age thirteen, after the Anna-Jane debacle. My mother immediately removed me from school and hired a tutor instead. Homeschooling made me feel ostracized, specially picked and taken away from kids my own age, but I had enough sense to know it was for my own good.

Though my father passed on when I was just shy of a decade—pneumonia, poor bastard—sometimes I find myself oddly wishing that he had lived longer, at least until I reached adulthood myself so that I could question him eye to eye, man to man now that I had experienced the world with eyes a little older, a little less shinier. Is asking a father to love his physically lesser son so hard? A brother to his own flesh and blood?

Sometimes I felt as though Jason could have been the sibling who had the capacity to semi-tolerate me, for he usually just carried out orders rather than actually propose any. Perhaps we could have built a wobbly relationship, and formed a semi-solid foundation over time. Father, Robert, and William's influence was much stronger than Jason's conscience, however. Who knows what could have come of it. Maybe once Jason was old enough to speak for himself he could have been my reprieve, just like mother.

Or maybe he would have just become a worse tormentor as his muscles grew.

But alas, none were meant to be. Young Jason was the first to go; only nine years old to my seven.

Upon reaching manhood, I had somewhat grown into my face. Somewhat. However, some things can never change. My diminutive appeal, my haunted complexion, and my disdain for society's favor of the beautiful remain.

The bitter wind started to curl through the underspace beneath my coat and crawl up my torso. It wouldn't have been good manners to ask my host to chip or defrost me off her porch. Snapping out my lapels to provide a small haven, I pocketed my hands and headed home. I wasn't sure what I could possibly do, I had no plans for the day, and I was certainly wide awake enough that sleep would be impossible. I suppose I could peruse the Wanted ads for a fifth time...

* * *

I entered my apartment, stomping my snow-encrusted shoes on the welcome mat, simultaneously shrugging my coat off. Bending to untie my shoes, I almost stamped a mucky print onto a pristine white envelope lying on the mat, sealed flap up.

The presence of it was such an oddity. Post didn't deliver on Sundays. Considering the placement, it had to have been shoved through the crack under the door. It certainly wasn't from Mother, she preferred using the phone to communicate.

With a healthy amount of suspicion, I picked it up and flipped it over.

_For Oswald Cobblepot, _written in black, fancy cursive, were the only words on it. No return address, no sender, and the lack of stamp meant it had to have been personally delivered.

Tossing my coat neatly over a chair, I brought the envelope into the kitchen to hold it up to a working light. A folded rectangular paper appeared to be housed inside. I shook the contents, testing for a sprinkle of a powdery substance into the translucent corner. Nothing fell from within the folds of the paper inside.

My thoughts immediately fell on Renata being the sender, but those suspicions instantly fell apart the more I dwelled on the possibility; she had perfect alibis. Foremost, she'd been with me ever since I left my apartment yesterday. Second, she didn't know where I lived. And third, her writing on the back of her store's business card didn't match the style on the envelope.

Figuring it was safe after inspection, I jabbed a finger into the loose corner and rustled the pouch wide. Working the tri-folded letter open, two additional rectangular cards tumbled from inside and fluttered to the floor. Curiously, I crouched to pick those up first. Stamped with tomorrow's date, they appeared to be tickets to a performance of _Cyrano_ at the Gotham City Opera House.

Intrigued, I skimmed the letter, hoping for more information. It only bore the simple message:

_For you and a special guest. Please enjoy. I will be in touch soon._

I flipped it back to front. No additional information, no letterhead, no signature.

The thing that troubled me the most, however, was how could they have known?

Most balk at the idea of opera, believing it nothing more than large, screechy women warbling in a foreign language, or a hobby of the elite to parade their entitlement. It is so much more than that. Opera utilized a mix of beauty and tragedy that culminated into a very moving experience. The true tragedy lied in the common folk who wrote it off as a dying genre only fit for parody.

My mother introduced me to the opera at a very young age. _Die Zauberflöte_ was my first, and I was transfixed ever since. The Queen of the Night's second aria still gives me the same chills now as it did then. I was smitten with the character the second I saw her; the commanding presence, the confidence, the absolute conviction. Terrifying as she was beautiful.

I studied the tickets closely. They did not come cheap, and I couldn't imagine a single person who would shell out that kind of money for me. Mother, perhaps, but she would have called me ahead of time. I considered that perhaps this mystery person got the wrong suite, but the envelope was addressed to me.

To play it safe, I donned more appropriate winter gear and trudged to a ticket box office a block away. The employee kindly checked for watermarks, serial numbers, and security features that authenticated their brand. In under a minute she had gone through every process and happily told me that they were indeed real.

A special guest, hm? I thought of mother first and foremost. She would forever be my first choice. But Renata...did she like opera? Perhaps this could be a good step, an introduction into my world, a pastime that meant something to me.

Maybe even someday, if all went well, the three of us could go together.

But I would have rather prevented Mother from calling her Renata Cobblepot just yet. Mother tended to get ahead of herself, mostly in theatrical ways. She meant well, but I didn't want Renata to get scared off or embarrassed. She would just have to remain my little secret friend for a while longer.

Back in my apartment, I advanced nervously to the phone. Lifting it off the cradle, I tapped out Renata's number. I read the brief letter one more time in an attempt to decode it.

_I will be in touch soon._

By which way, and how soon?

* * *

**A/N: ****Umm...by the way, everyone, uhh...I don't exactly know how to tell you guys this *rubs back of neck sheepishly* It's difficult, and I feel awful about it looking as if I'm stringing you all along, making promises and then breaking them time and time again, but...I really don't think I can get all this done in seven chapters. I really need another extension, I just went too far in my mind and now I can't stuff everything left into only one more chapter. So let's rip up this seven chapters promise...***_**scritch**_**, **_**scritch**_**, tosses pieces into air like confetti*...and I'll just say that 'Necessary Evil' ends when it ends. I can't say an exact number for sure now, but we're still over the halfway mark, so don't expect a super-long drawn out plot.**

**I really need to stop planning a certain number of chapters before I start a story, it NEVER works and I always overshoot the estimate. **_**Always**_**. Why do I never learn?**

**And also, hey lurkers, I seeee yoooou ;) *lays potato chips out in a trail, leading to crude trap consisting of a cardboard box propped up with a stick* Come out of the shadows, that's a good lurker, come on...**

****Note: Die Zauberflöte means The Magic Flute, which is a famous opera by Mozart. If you want to _really_ get an earful of The Queen of the Night's second aria (Der H****ölle Rache)************, get a load of Diana Damrau's version. What power! What control! What _attitude_!  
****

_Guest_ \- Thank you!

_Dekka_ \- Forgive me if this sounds egotistical, but it never gets old when people remark on my writing :D That is the best news ever! Besides being told I won the $50 Million Jackpot, or that world peace has been attained. But one step at a time...

**Mar. 22, 2016 EDIT: As of Season 2, Episode 15 "Mad Grey Dawn", the section in this chapter regarding Oswald's past has now been partially, if not mostly, rendered AU. I wrote the entirety of 'Necessary Evil' along the way during the first season, using Penguin's "Pain and Prejudice" comicbook origin to fill in the gaps that Gotham hadn't answered at the time.**  
**I will leave it as is, out of respect to previous readers, to what I wrote, and to stand by it.**


	7. Opera

The next evening, there I stood, punctual and lingering on the sidewalk, the majestic Gotham City Opera House behind me working as a stunning backdrop. For a late fall come early winter night, the weather was quite mild and pleasantly cool.

In the midst of it all, I developed a rather bothersome habit of adjusting my already perfect cufflinks every few minutes.

My special three-piece suit that I saved only for occassions such as these hadn't seen the light of day for quite a few months. Tightened finances being what they were, I was forced to treat myself less and less. There was a sense of elation when I pulled back the plastic dry-cleaner bag earlier that day. Wearing the suit again was like slipping on an old skin, familiar and empowering.

I had also done something with my hair. In normal conditions it wilted lifelessly over my forehead, thin and every bit as alluring as charred straw. An odd little tuft at the rear of my scalp, the one that could never lie flat, suddenly looked out of place. I ran my fingers through the dead strands ponderingly, watching my reflection. Assuming the visuals of a gentleman meant looking a little less like...me. No exception as to whether or not I was one every other day. I respected the Opera too much.

A dollop of pomade and a few backstrokes of a comb later, my hair was out of my eyes and, at the very least, presentable.

I very nearly left my apartment before noticing the shadow draped across my knuckles. That valet's smug face—smashed near unrecognition thanks to me—flickered in my mind. I flexed and rolled my fingers, watching the undulating bones ripple under my skin, a test of the bruise's noticeability in the light. The last thing I needed was a scrap's discoloration working as a distraction whilst I tried to convince Gotham's elite that I deserved to be there alongside them. No matter what Renata's thoughts were on the subject, I did not regret a moment of it. Being the one to personally dispense what that worm deserved still left me in a suppressed state of euphoria.

I decided to forego any concealment techniques in the end. The shade my sleeve provided did a fine job, so long as I kept my hand to my side as often as possible.

Cab after cab entered the drop-off zone, but Renata still had yet to arrive. My fingers searched yet again for an imagined rogue cufflink. She wouldn't stand me up, I knew she wouldn't. She wouldn't. There was still half an hour until the curtain rose. Plenty of time. Plenty of time.

The identity of my mysterious benefactor still left me with some concern, namely the unknown motivation part, but the letter was clear in it's instructions, so enjoy I would. It wasn't everyday one received admission-free theater tickets and the chance to rub elbows with Gotham's highest ranking socialites. I would face the consequences, if any, at a later time.

Another taxi pulled to the curb, parallel to me. As I was about to wave the driver off to signify I wasn't looking for a ride, the back door popped open. A black suede stilletto heel emerged, attached to a pale ankle. After a pause, the foot bore weight and a woman's head rose above the window.

I almost didn't recognize her.

Her hair wasn't made of the many individual, scraggly crinkles I'd come to know. Tonight it was smoothed into a single uniform wave, reminiscent of Hollywood starlets in the 1940's. The bulk of it draped her cheek on one side.

"Thank you," Renata called brightly into the cab, stooping. Pushing the yellow door shut behind her, she stepped onto the curb, her heels clacking and scraping on the gravely sidewalk.

"I'm sorry, I'm not late am I?" she asked, approaching me.

I blinked rapidly, jolting. "_No_, no, you're right on time."

Renata's ruby lips spread in a grin. Her slate grey icebreaker jacket flared out, ending at her knees, leaving her bare calves exposed. I had to rely on my peripheral to acertain that point, it would have been distasteful to give her body a once-over in plain sight. A teardrop pearl earring danced beneath her one visible ear, and I assumed its twin was hidden somewhere in the shiny, dark cascade of her leftside. Occupying her hand was a simple, black clutch bag.

"You weren't waiting long were you?" she asked.

"Not at all. You look..."

"Different?"

"Lovely."

She pursed her lips. Tightening her coat around her middle, she replied bashfully, "Thank you."

The shock of brilliant color on her lips emboldened the borders I formerly thought I knew. They seemed expanded, and caught the eye in such a way that I couldn't help but concentrate on the stretch and constriction of them while she spoke. Meanwhile, the splash of burnt-edge silver over her eyelids gave the illusion that her trademark large, heavily-lidded eyes had shrunk.

I cleared my throat. "Shall we?" I gestured to the Opera House.

She nodded and gladly fell in step with me.

Luckily for her ankles, the cement sidewalk had been salted beforehand, leaving the path clear of ice and other wintery hazards. She seemed especially skittish around puddles, though, including the most shallow and insignificant, lightly hopping over them with a delicate lift of her arm for stability. When this happened a second time, I offered my arm to assist her balance.

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish giggle, willingly taking my elbow.

Her pace was mellow. While I would have rather been a little more prompt to reach our seats, I accommodated her easygoing stride instead. I wondered if perhaps her choice in footwear was a little cumbersome, for every step I took she seemed to take two smaller ones.

"Thank you," said Renata suddenly. "For inviting me. I've never experienced an opera before." She then beamed, her voice squealing with excitement like a violin string. "I feel like a princess tonight! Like Cinderella."

Then for her sake I hoped midnight would never come.

"Truthfully, I'm almost clueless about opera," she went on. "I couldn't even name you a single song if I tried. But I've always wanted to try it at least once."

"I appreciate your willingness. Personally, it is one of my favorite things in the world. It is an honour to be the first to introduce you."

She grinned in response. "So you would know a lot about opera, wouldn't you? I'm pretty lucky to have you with me, then. Please be patient with me, I promise I won't ask _too_ many questions."

Personally speaking, I didn't want her to hold back.

We reached the outer concourse circling the establishment. A banner rolled down from the rooftop advertised tonight's performance of _Cyrano_, depicting a barrel-chested man mid-note as the titular character. Renata craned her head skyward at the decadently lit structure, brilliant spheres of white reflected in her eyes.

"I've never been this close," she said breathlessly, then cast a marveled look at me. "You know what I used to call this place when I was a kid? A castle. I thought a king and queen lived here. I can't tell you how excited I am, I've never seen the inside before."

Bypassing metal detectors and security who scanned our tickets, we entered the lobby.

"Oh..." breathed Renata, her voice dying. From the moment she saw it she was fixated upon the main floor's impressive bubble chandelier. Her jaw slackened minimally whilst her eyes broadened in Wonderlandian enchantment. Her eyes flittered and sparkled in the many lights, latching onto as much detail as possible.

I drew her moderately sideways, more a physical suggestion than an actual tug, to make way for those we were blocking. Renata was like a balloon and steered with the slightest inclination. Even though she followed my lead, she kept her eyes on the chandelier for a few seconds longer. Swivelling her head like a bird, she caught the white double staircase that led to the box seats, the large wall sconces set up at intervals against the walls, and the enormous canvas portraits of the Gotham City's Opera House's past, starting from the late-1800's to present.

"Beautiful , isn't it?" I said knowingly.

She didn't answer but her far-off nod indicated she heard me.

"Coat check?"

Renata, thrown-off track, turned her attention to the man behind the counter I led her to. She watched him like she'd never seen a coat check counter before. She looked to me uncertainly in a way that communicated her hesitancy on how to proceed and would take my lead with anything I did in the next few seconds.

A bubble of pride formed in my chest. I felt strangely uplifted, arrogant even, to have somebody partly dependent on me. A pleasing feeling it was to have an advantage. She was in my world now. "Yes, thank you," I answered the coat check assistant.

Handing mine off and receiving the numbered ticket for retrieval later in the evening, Renata followed my actions and started unbuttoning the lapels of her coat. A slash of solid red-wine color emerged from the opening slit. Slipping the final fastener free, she shrugged the coat off her shoulders, and a sleeveless cocktail dress bloomed into view. Cinched with a thin, similarly colored belt at the navel, her skirt fanned out in an A line to her knees. The material even moved like wine in a glass, as though her dress had been poured straight from the bottle.

She self-consciously avoided my gaze and handed in her coat to receive her own numbered ticket, placing it inside her handbag. The small square of paper must have been putting up a fight because she seemed very adamant on stuffing it inside as effort-inducing and slow as possible. She looked up through her eyelashes at me. I knew what she was looking for in my face because for a long stretch of my childhood I had done the same: she was searching for judgement.

She would not find it in my neutral expression, nor would I waste my time indulging vanity. Frankly, she knew better than to think that way around me. Or at least she should have learned by now, but from what I'd known of Renata so far, I expected her to be a slow learner. Undoing the crippling emotional perception she was taught all her life was not my job, she had to find that within herself, just like I had to.

That wasn't to say, however, that I didn't mind having her on my arm tonight. She knew the way I felt about her.

Seemingly placated by my lack of criticism, her mood returned to her former happy-go-lucky dial setting. "Do you mind if we look around for a little bit?" she asked.

I did mind somewhat. I usually preferred claiming my seat early. Still, tonight my spirits were in good standing and I was willing to compromise in order for her introductory experience be a positive one. "For a few minutes, I suppose," I answered obligingly.

Renata excitedly flittered about, her skirt swishing as she stopped and swerved from desk to desk to view various souvenirs and information on tonight's performance, not to mention reading the little factoids on the walls about the Opera House's inception, construction, and most prominent donating patrons.

An older couple promenaded past me on their way to the grand staircase, casting irritable stares at Renata as if should have been exercising more self-control. The woman's stern pucker couldn't even be offset by the glimmering diamonds at her neck. She leaned over and muttered something to her husband, and they both continued on their way. I held my gaze tight on them as I watched them go.

Renata wasn't making a scene, she was quite well-behaved, but her energy may have looked out of place in the demure setting of the Opera House lobby and its upperclass patrons. I thought it may have been best to reign her in, if only for her sake to counteract the minor attention she was receiving.

She flounced over to me, a performance program and a playbill clutched in her hand. "Definitely going to keep these," she said, shuffling the booklets admiringly in her hands like they were collector's cards. Her teardrop pearl earrings bobbed and swung in a frenzy. Their shine was dull, and they swayed with very little weight, leading me to believe they weren't genuine pearl.

Then, just as she was about to move on to another target, her ankle buckled—not enough to for her to fall, but just enough to stagger. The majority of her momentum fell in my direction and I quickly caught her shoulder.

Stepping twice to find her balance again, she suddenly giggled. "Sorry," she trilled, "I'm not quite used to these." She pumped a leg behind her to exhibit a stiletto, and then whispered aside like she was sharing a secret with me. "They're not exactly work appropriate at my place."

I let go of her shoulder, safe to assume she wasn't at risk of toppling over, and she wandered away a little more carefully. "Perhaps it would be best to calm your enthusiasm," I said as tactfully as possible, careful to inflect a touch of amusement to prevent her from feeling embarassed. "People are taking notice."

I almost felt like I was speaking to a mask. Her glamorous make-up hadn't changed her features so significantly that I could not recognize her, but they were noticeably different.

"Huh?" Renata scanned the lobby to find one or two decadent socialites whose curious attention she caught. Comprehension dawned on her face and she turned to me again. "Oh, I'm sorry! Is that not allowed at places like this? That kind of behaviour? I didn't mean to act up or anything. Honestly, I didn't know."

Her anxious look wounded me, and I felt as though I had put a halt to a natural, intuitive response. Her only crime was enthusiasm for the upcoming event, after all. Perhaps I was feeling sympathetic in that she was physically displaying what I was suppressing out of necessity to achieve an air of class.

"On second thought," I corrected, "never mind. Carry on however you like."

"Oh. Well, if you think it's okay..." She relaxed, but her brightness dulled following that. It did nothing to quell her building anticipation, though.

The tickets weren't prime box seats, but eighth row floor level would do just fine. More than fine. Dead center, too. The main seating hall was only at quarter capacity. Renata lowered herself ladylike into the foldout velvet cushion, and I followed right beside her. The chords of Renata's neck strained and bulged as she craned and whirled in many directions, viewing everything from the enormous chandelier above us to the rows of box seats on either side of the theater. The main hall's theme was strong with a warm red. It decorated everything from the seats to the carpet to the redwood paneling and, of course, the stage curtain.

Renata started thumbing through her playbill. "Is there a synopsis of the story somewhere in here?" she asked. "I don't think this will be in English, am I going to be able to follow it?"

"Normally it's performed in French."

Renata's mouth twisted uneasily. "Uh oh."

I allowed myself a small, chiding chuckle at her apprehension. "Have you forgotten who you're attending with? I'm right here throughout the entire performance if you need to ask." I couldn't quite speak French either, not fluently at least, but I was no stranger to the Cyrano de Bergerac story and it's libretto. It couldn't hurt to let her think I was a little more worldly, though. It wasn't a bold-faced lie, was it?

I contemplatively observed the stage curtain, which billowed a bare inch from an air-conditioned breeze. "Besides," I continued, "sometimes you don't need to understand every word to _understand_. Opera is a transcendence of mere words, Renata. If you can feel what the characters feel, hear the intensity or gentle nuance in the rise and fall of their voice, you'll know."

I stole a glimpse at her. Her attention was on the stage as well, and her eyes flickered in wonder as if trying to see the same thing I was.

A thick-set man in a black tuxedo and bowtie wiggled through our aisle and interrupted us by sitting himself down next to me. He barely had any neck to speak of, his head was like a fleshy blob of clay with a slap of thin, brownish hair on top, placed on a pair of burly shoulders. Turning slightly to stuff a pamphlet into his inner pocket, he caught my eye.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" he smiled.

I didn't answer but gave him a polite nod in return, just for manner's sake.

The man shifted to find a comfortable position, taking up my rightside arm rest in the process. "Gonna be a good show, eh?"

I pressed my lips tight and nodded, semi-peeved at his bad timing. Renata didn't seem to mind the interruption, however, and even smiled at the man.

"I hope so," she said across the bridge of me.

There was no use in salvaging, our moment was over. For the remaining three minutes before the performance started, I allowed her to continue her visual exploration of every facet of the theater in the privacy of her own thoughts.

The orchestra conductor appeared from a side stage door and took his place at the head of the pit, the musicians already in place. He bowed three times—right, center, and left—to receive the applause of the audience, and then faced the stage, readying his conductor's wand.

The lights dimmed. Renata prepared herself by straightening in her seat and folding her arms in her lap, crossing one leg over the other. The tensity in her body was palpable, I could almost feel it radiating off of her. Pleasing memories of my first few operas came to mind. I've become jaded to the feeling of child-like anticipation before a show, but it was quite nice to relive it through somebody else, just to remind myself that I felt that way once.

The first brass notes blared, and the heavy curtain parted.

* * *

**A/N: Oh MAN, what a month it's been! I'm exhausted to the bone, I barely had any time to write this December. It's a belated Christmas miracle I got this done at all.**

**Dammit, the 'Gotham' writers changed Oswald's mom's name in the show. Usually it's Esther in other Batman media, but the show has gone with Gertrude, so I had to edit the last chapter accordingly. I do so like the sound of Esther more...**


	8. Cyrano

_Cyrano_'s introductory town square scene proved to be very dialogue heavy. Naturally, Renata appeared to be already lost within the first minute. She wasn't hiding it well. Her eyes were roving restlessly, settling on singular characters to work out what they were saying before the next started speaking. I knew she would be too polite to ask me, maybe even too proud. I also know an opportunity when I perceive one.

Leaning on my elbow to drift closer to meet her, I hovered an inch or two away from her ear. Her powdery-sweet perfume snaked up my nose and caressed my senses so pacifyingly that my entire prepared sentence almost erased itself from my mind.

"They're discussing Cyrano before he's arrived," I whispered, keeping my sight on the stage so that I, too, would not miss a second.

Renata shrunk down to whisper back to me gratefully, "Thank you."

She very nearly sealed the gap to those crucial last few inches, and as a result I felt the cool strands of her hair brush the tip of my nose. I could get used to that feeling.

* * *

"Rumor mongering," I explained quietly.

* * *

"Cyrano is boasting about his victories and the depth of his soul against those mocking him."

* * *

"Christian's giving Cyrano a chance to admit the truth to Roxane, but Cyrano won't do it."

* * *

She leaned in eagerly everytime she saw me shift to feed her information. I vowed to stay silent as the grave whenever plot-heavy singing commenced, though. I would not ruin a single note by breaking engagement and taking us both out of the moment only to offer her some paltry explanation she could easily decipher for herself by visuals.

And our evening continued that way. I offered my helpful hints sparingly, and at intervals so as not to disrupt our immersion. True to my advice about language being able to be partly decoded through emotion, she seemed to catch the gist of major scenes, such as the plan for Christian to woo Roxane by virtue of his good looks while being aided verbally by the unfortunate-looking but witty Cyrano de Bergerac, and of Cyrano's softness for Roxane.

Intermission hit much too soon and light flooded the main hall again. Renata excused herself and side-winded her way down the aisle to wherever her destination was, stranding me with a question still on my tongue. The man beside me didn't leave, and I didn't appreciate his watching Renata leave either, even if his eyes did not travel any further south than I would have liked.

"That your girl?" he said, smiling conversationally at me.

Frankly, that was none of his business. I wished to tell him so, but it would do me well to uphold a good image. "I don't know yet," I replied and left it at that, very firmly cementing a period at the end of my response.

"Ah. Still reeling her in." The man nodded understandingly.

I could have done without the insinuation that Renata was a wriggling mackeral heading for my net. I sought a connection, not a conquest.

She returned shortly with a new treasure in her hands—a copy of the original play in paperback novel format. In English.

"Sorry," she said, "I remembered seeing this in the lobby earlier."

"I take it you are you enjoying yourself?" I asked tepidly while she lowered into her seat.

Her red lips stretched into a brilliant grin. "Absolutely! I'm going to remember this for a long time, Oswald. I think I'm really getting into this story now, I want to know it properly."

I didn't know if the language barrier was still troubling her or taking away part of the enjoyment, but she sounded sincere.

"So you are having a good time?" I said, just for confirmation to ease my mind in the hope that this evening wasn't a futile effort.

She nodded enthusiastically, more a vibration than an actual nod.

* * *

The third and final act proved to be more engaging than the first two, now that the singing became more powerful, more passionate, more personal for the three main players. Cyrano wailed his heartbreak, and Roxane, none-the-wiser of his love for her, fawned over Christian.

It is well-known that many operas culminate in tragedy, and _Cyrano_ was no exception. Renata could not understand French, but she didn't have to to understand that Christian had been killed in battle, and the revelation fifteen years later from an injured, dying Cyrano to Roxane that it was _his_ words she had fallen in love with all along. It proved overwhelming to Renata and she shielded her mouth in pity. She held her elbow to prop it up, as if she were trying to contain herself, needing something to hold.

The orchestra's string section swelled into sweeping, majestic sadness as Cyrano confessed by reciting Christian's last letter to Roxane word for word, now that it was too late. Though weakened and barely able to stand from his chair, Cyrano's strong baritone did not falter.

I was fixated just as much, but I couldn't help sneaking peaks at Renata's reaction. I couldn't help but live this moment through another's eyes. Her globby sniffles reached my ears. Silently, I handed her a hankerchief from my pocket, to which she quietly thanked me and dabbed the corners of her eyes.

Cyrano slumped in his chair. Roxane sobbed forlornly for her tragic poet. The orchestra soared, building to a crescendo, and stayed it for an extension, bringing the whole two-hour event to this moment. The horns blasted a resounding, final, crashing note.

Silence. Darkness.

Renata sprang from her seat, practically the first audience silhouette to do so, holding her clapping hands high as the theater became alight again. The entire theater rose a half-second behind her in a well-deserved standing ovation, me included. Like Renata I was emotionally charged by the performance, but resigned instead to politely applaud at chest-level, dropping my right palm down into the left.

The actors bounded back on stage to receive their adoration and take their final bows for several minutes. Once they all had their chance and waved goodbye for the last time, the red curtain closed. Opera patrons hummed in idle chatter as they vacated their seats, casually strolling for the exits.

The man beside me stood up. "Well, that was a good show, wasn't it? It's been a pleasure, bud," he said, presenting his hand for a shake.

I accepted with a firm pump. When the man pulled away, he said no more and left the aisle. And something in my hand.

Nearly tumbling from my open palm, I caught the small, rectangular piece of paper before it fluttered onto the red and gold paisley-patterned carpet. Just as I was about to curiously thumb a corner to unfold it, Renata adjusted everything she needed to and stood up to follow me. Placing more importance on my guest, I tended to her first. "Ready?" I asked.

Renata tucked something at the back of her neck and nodded. Her eyes glittered, still uncleared of tears, but there was a content smile on her face. That was promising. If she enjoyed her evening, then in turn I was pleased, too. I absent-mindedly slid the paper into my pocket for later.

We moved off to a traffic-less side of the theater doors, allowing the rest of the audience to file past us. I wanted to ask many times what Renata thought of the show, but never had the chance. I didn't have to ask now, though. She didn't even need prompt.

"Wow," she said, leaning against the wall. "That was...so _beautiful_. I mean—", she pardoned herself to stifle a lingering sob, letting out a breathy, self-depricating laugh despite herself. "—I had a little trouble there at the beginning. Thanks for translating for me, by the way. But once I caught on to the character's motivations, I really liked it. I really, really liked it. I see what you mean now. About opera."

"It is quite stirring, isn't it?" I said, knowing the answer already.

She nodded. "I'm so happy you gave me this chance. I probably never would have if it hadn't been for you." She placed a hand on my forearm and squeezed warmly. "Oh, and, um, sorry about this." She opened her clutchbag and held up my no longer pristine white hankerchief, which was now decorated with smoky smears of her eye-makeup.

"Keep it," I said. "You may have a use for it for next time."

Renata paused. "You mean you wouldn't mind watching one with me again?"

"Without question."

She smiled that same dazzling grin she used all night. "I'd like that," she said quietly. "If they'll be anything like this one, I could get used to coming here. I can't wait to read this book when I get home."

Fetching our coats, Renata slipped hers on just before vacating the building. Taking one last entranced look over her shoulder at the lobby, she followed me out into the cool night.

Because we had to go two different ways, it wasn't feasible to share a cab, much to my regret. It would have been nice to discuss the opera we had just seen and compare thoughts. There was something refreshing about hearing an outsider's perspective.

"That's what tomorrow's for," she promised. "The cafe near my store, meet me there for breakfast."

I allowed her a cab first. After it hugged the curb and braked, I stepped forward and opened the rear door for her.

"Thank you," she said sweetly. From the corner of my eye I could see her approaching to duck inside the vehicle when a weight bore on my shoulder and I felt a kiss on my cheek. I barely heard her goodbye.

Catching my own cab (and receiving some ribbing from the driver about the lipstick print on my cheek) I made it home to my drab living quarters as it welcomed me back with little fanfare. The colorless aura of the place drained the lively rush I received courtesy of the Gotham City Opera House. How long would it be until I could wear this suit again? A job still eluded me. I leaned my back against the door to rest, begrudgingly allowing life to return to normal. I ignored it and let the little movie-theater in my head recount the highlights of my evening.

And, mentally jolting, I suddenly remembered the piece of paper. Fishing for it in my pocket, I pulled it out. Nothing official-looking. It was warm and creased from sitting in my pocket for so long, but intact and untattered. I wasn't sure what to make of it, it didn't seem possible to be unaware this was still in his hand when he shook mine. Unless it was specifically meant for me.

The entrance light above me was still burnt out. I really needed to get on that.

Moving to the kitchen and flipping the switch, I unfolded the paper, suddenly reminded of the envelope I opened the previous day.

My name was what I saw first. That same loopy writing on the envelope.

_To Mr. Oswald Cobblepot_

_Hope you enjoyed the show. In recompense for our generosity, we expect you Monday at this location, no later than 12:00 pm sharp. Come alone._

Monday. Two days from now.

Within the paper's folds was a business card for a club, along with an address. And not just anybody's club. This proprietor was one I had done some homework on before. And rumor had it she had connections, ones I was most intrigued by. Ones that could potentially benefit me.

I wasn't scared. In fact, underneath the flickering florescent light, a smile creeped over my face. An opportunity had fallen right into my lap.

* * *

**A/N: ****Fun fact: Some modern opera venues have screens around the stage with English translations for foreign language performances.**

_Claire_ \- Oh, thank you :D


	9. Vulnerable

**A/N: I meant to sprinkle a little bit of angst in this chapter, just a teensy bit for flavor, but my mind pulled the 'loosened lid' prank on me...  
**  
**I'll go easy on it next time.**

* * *

I had fallen into an ugly habitual pattern, and there wasn't much anybody could do for me because it was my own inward battle.

_I really, really like her._

_No, I don't. Not that much..._

_I want to be with her..._

_No, I don't._

_She could love me._

_Could she? A weasel like you? Did you forget she's not particularly pretty?_

Just an endless cycle of inner contradictions.

We were setting ourselves up to be hurt, I just knew it. There was little Renata could reveal that would make me reject her and turn my back, but there was much I could say that'd make her pack her things and run. Far away where I'd never see her again. A casual relationship was all well and good now, but what would happen when she delved deeper, chipped away at my icy exterior and discovered every last of my dark secrets? Would she still carry any kind of fondness for me?

I'm a businessman at heart, and to be a good businessman you must lack a heart. I had goals. Dreams. Ambitions that Renata wouldn't comprehend. I sought a piece of Gotham for a very long time. My own turf, my own money-maker, my control, _my_ empire to command and nobody else's. No one would ever dare mock me again. I would never feel powerless again.

Every dream starts out small, however, so baby steps were essential. The note and business card last night were my golden ticket. I cared so little to why I was being summoned that it was almost reckless. Did I owe money? Did I cross an associate of hers? Who knew. But it was still a fissure I could grease myself through. An audience with _the_ Fish Mooney. That was all I needed.

In the scheme of things, Renata wasn't supposed to happen. She just did, and I wondered whether she was making me lose focus. Now I remember why I rejected the thought of love forever.

It would be wise to nip this in the bud now, stop everything before weeding roots made their home, but selfishness has a way of spiting one's better judgement, and I happily, greedily devoured the anticipation of our breakfast date. I could make this relationship work. I could. If it meant leading a double life, so be it, just as long as I could still keep her. Loneliness can be a crippling thing, and I quite liked the thought of her lying next to me on especially desolate nights...

A warm front settled over Gotham, melting the paltry amount of snow by morning. Overcast skies covered the sun, but it was a nice enough day to bring out the wool-felt coat with a proper button-up and slacks.

Renata was seated alone in the outdoor, fenced-in bistro patio when I arrived, a newspaper flat on the small, circular table, all four corners dipping from lack of surface area. The empty chair across was waiting for me.

She appeared normal today. Her transformation last night seemed to be a one-time thing, perhaps a rarity. Scarlet Renata, as I'd taken to calling her appearance last night, had been pleasing to look at, but there was something very personable about average Renata, something reachable. The make-up didn't make her a different person, but I preferred this one better for the sole reason that I was used to it. It was the form I knew her by, the one I fell in...well, the one I'd grown quite attached to.

Mother warned me of 'scarlet women' and their tempting natures...

Her hair was duller, springing back to it's natural lift now that the product had been washed out. Her burgundy dress's freedom was gone, replaced by a pair of casual black jeans, and the plum puffer jacket. The dangling pearl earrings were also done away with, replaced by tiny, nearly invisible gold studs.

I wouldn't have minded seeing Scarlet Renata again, but until then, this one suited me just fine.

She never took notice of me nearing. Chin in one hand and contemplatively rubbing a knuckle in-between her lips, her attention was too absorbed in whichever article currently had hold. The black iron fence separating the patio from the sidewalk was short enough to lunge over, but foregoing a classless entrance, I took the extra distance necessary to the latched gate, and entered. Renata didn't even seem to hear the squeaky hinges, or the tap of my approaching Oxford shoes on the red brick terrain.

Coming to a standstill just out of her sight, I cleared my throat. "Mind if I join you?"

Her eyes flicked upward. "Oswald! Hi!"

Metallic chair legs screeched as she stood up to greet me. Clasping her arms around my neck, she squeezed tight, groaning happily.

I blinked several times at this rather unexpected, enthusiastic greeting. I patted her shoulder in return, albeit haltingly. "Well, good morning to you, too. That sure gets the blood flowing."

"I just want to thank you again for last night," she said, her voice partly muffled in my coat, and then she parted from me, rubbing my unimpressive bicep in a friendly way. "I was up 'till three in the morning reading. Cyrano is a beautiful story. I had a great time there, I haven't seen anything that stirring in a quite a while."

I massaged my neck mildly, a teasing gesture at her grip, but the sting dissolved harmlessly as soon as it came. "I couldn't have asked for a more enthusiastic partner than yourself."

"Sit, sit," she beckoned, pulling my chair out and leaving it for me. Rounding the table, she folded the newspaper back into it's delivery creases and laid it aside for us to make use of the full surface. While she took her own seat, I managed to view the top headline.

_THREE FOUND DEAD IN SHIPYARD WAREHOUSE_  
_Carmine Falcone suspect in execution-style homicide_

Renata settled into a comfortable position. Noticing my distraction, she followed my gaze. "Oh. Sickening, isn't it?"

I suppose she misconstrued my silence as sympathy. I briefly skimmed the article, skipping most of the flowery, bloated wording in order to get to the more palatable details. If my research on Falcone was accurate, the police had nothing on him in this case. Execution style was just not his method. Not personally.

Renata leaned back and crossed her arms. "What in the world possesses someone to do that?" she pondered out loud morosely. "Sad that Gotham has this kind of atmosphere and reputation hanging over it."

"Hm?" I looked up. "Oh. Yeah, yeah, it's pretty depressing." Or just three oafs who were in way over their heads. Amateurs, most likely. I continued reading, but since the investigation was in it's early stages it looked as though this Roger Vale could only fill a minimum word-count.

When I leaned back in my chair, insinuating that I read all I required, Renata took back the newspaper. "You done with this?" she asked as a courtesy. I nodded and she tossed it neatly onto a neighboring table. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.

The breeze was cool but soft and unbitter, barely noticeable. The weather was feeling more like autumn again, like that small patch of early winter a few days ago never happened. A waitress who was much too chirpy considering the early hour jotted down our order of two French toast platters, mine with just maple syrup, Renata's with diced strawberries and bananas, and powdered sugar.

Renata did most of the talking, she was just so eager to resurface last night's events. I'm not all that much of a talker, so I really didn't mind this set-up. It kept us engaged with minimal effort on my part, and I only felt too proud to know the answers to her questions pertaining to the plot and characters, the kind of questions that only popped into her head before drifting off to sleep. I was positively the picture of all-knowing sophistication, one leg crossed while stirring honey into my Earl Grey.

Polishing off our breakfast, Renata shifted topics and asked, "Got any plans later?" while dusting off residual powdered sugar from her hands and lap.

"Not really." I drained the last of my tea. "There's no particular place I need to be right now."

"Fancy going for a walk around, then?"

"Did you have a certain destination in mind?"

She shrugged. "Wherever the sidewalk takes us."

There was something about the too-nonchalant delivery that made me believe an ulterior motive. It seemed we always had conversations that got a little too personal when in motion. I didn't like aimless wandering like she did, it got very little done, but I found myself surprisingly receptive anyway, just for the fact that my aimless wandering partner was a good friend.

I agreed to her proposal, and after a little tussle in which we insisted who would pay for breakfast (she claimed that she invited me, therefore the bill was her responsibility; she only won by virtue of my card getting declined), we tucked in our chairs in and left the bistro.

The sidewalk wasn't bustling in the slightest. For a weekday morning, that wasn't at all farfetched. A young mother pushing her baby stroller, and an old man on errands were the only other people visible. Renata and I basically had the pavement to ourselves for the majority of the time. Cool air nipped the apples of her cheeks, tinting them a charming, rosy color. The similar effect on my face at least made me look less corpse-like.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," she said, not even half a minute since we left the patio. "A lot of chances came up before, but I think now the timing feels right."

Here it was. Her tone was saying it all, this 'talk' wasn't going to be a normal 'talk'. There was no mental preparation that could have braced me for it, but it had to happen sooner or later. I wasn't ready, and I knew I would never _be_ ready. Still, I pulled together my most tactful expression and posture, ready for whichever direction our conversation would head.

"Look, we're adults, right?" said Renata kindly, but with a small hint of impatience at herself, as if there were some inner struggle going on inside her. "If I can say something, I'm going to personally grow up a little bit and say I don't have a lot of experience in these sorts of situations—"

Something we definitely had in common.

"—so forgive me if I act strange."

Hopefully she would extend the same allowance to me.

She took an energizing breath through the nose and exhaled. "You know you're special to me, right?"

"I...did not know that." Or did I? I couldn't speak for her, all I knew was what _I_ felt, and that made me blind to her perspective.

She looked a tad put-out by my answer, but pressed on.

I kept my eyes forward, pretending to be absently distracted when all I really wanted was to give her the dignity of looking her in the eye. This sudden onslaught of personal sharing sent my insides squirming. This conversation was abandoning my comfort zone and heading for somewhere uncharted.

She smiled. "You could say I hold you in high regard."

"But why?"

The smile faded. "I'm sorry? What do you mean by _why_?"

I wasn't quite sure how to elaborate.

"Wait, wait, wait." She half-stepped into my path to block my way, placing a hand on my shoulder to stop me. She held me in place, her eyes flickering disbelievingly. "Is it really that hard for you to see it?"

That hideous squirm in my stomach expanded, feeling more and more like an actual wriggling, restless worm. Had medical tools been in my grasp I would have personally performed the surgery necessary to extract it, just to make that feeling cease. Renata's speech was heading on a curve I could easily predict, and I silently begged her not to go through with it. _Don't do this, Renata, please, don't say it._

_Don't get my hopes up._

"Oswald, let me be clear with you. No games, no dancing around the subject, okay?"

"Um, very well. If you feel it's necessary."

"It is." She dropped her hand and we resumed walking. "Well, _I_ think it is. I've kind of been sitting on this for a long time. Do you remember that day when you returned to the store and gave me those flowers?"

"I do."

"Likely it didn't take much for you to do, but on that day you made me happier than I had been in a while. It wasn't just the flowers. It was that you remembered me."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. It's probably not all that hard to believe, but for most of my life I've usually been invisible to men. Romantically, at least."

As was I with women, but I wasn't going to admit that out loud. It went without saying.

"When I asked you to call me back, I meant it sincerely. You were in rough shape, you looked really hurt."

What was it about people thinking I couldn't take a proper hit? When you've found yourself in a few scraps (and losing horribly) you tend to learn quite a bit more than the gawking gallery would—chiefly which positions offered the least pain radius.

Renata wasn't done yet. "I didn't expect to connect to you quite like this, the way we are now. But you stuck around when I reached out, you didn't abandon me with a thank you and a goodbye. That fight with that valet guy the other day, I still don't approve, but it might be worth mentioning that I've known very few men who stood up for me. I mean I'm not encouraging that kind of revenge from anybody, but even I was kind of caught up in my own reasons. Somebody defended me. I kept going back and forth in my head, telling myself _'No, that method was wrong'_, to '_But the thought behind it was noble' _and it just repeated in a circle, over and over again in my head. I meant what I said that night, I'm not scared of you, Oswald. My question is though, do you have a tendency towards violence where I should be?"

I was quiet, burned by the sudden, harsh spotlight I was put under.

"I don't want to put you on the spot," she said quickly, posing her hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to question your character like that, forget I asked."

Could I lie? The fact was yes, I didn't mind doling out a few well-placed knuckles to an insolent face, among worse. Renata was more diplomatic, though. She would never approve of inflicted pain as the answer to any dispute, thus would look down on me. How little she understood of the world...

"I do not have an anger problem, I want to make that abundantly clear to you," I bargained, mainly to myself.

"Oswald, stop, it was a stupid ques-"

"No, it wasn't. You're only looking out for yourself, and I approve. Your concern is whether or not one day I will lash out at you in a blind rage."

Renata's face blotched mightily red. She didn't want to say it in as many words, but I knew that was the question on her mind. And I wasn't offended at all by the preventative measures she was taking. This was proof of her spine. She wasn't as much of a victim as I previously thought. There was still work to be done pertaining to self-confidence, but she wasn't hopeless. Self-preservation is a skill.

"Given what you saw the other day, I understand, Renata. Rest assured, I would _never_ place an unwanted hand on you. I would never strike you, whether out of passion or anger. There is nothing you can do to me in which I'd conclude that you deserved what I did to that man."

I meant that, too. I still didn't think I could summon enough vindictiveness to make the rest of her life miserable even if she ended up being version two of both Gina Carlto and Anna-Jane. A betrayal on Renata's part would just simply prove that I was right about the world and myself all along, and that I should have known better. Frankly, even if I was callous enough to beat around the innocent type of her caliber, there were still many other ways to get back at someone. Blackmail, extortion, kidnapping, ransom, framing, intimidation, manipulation; and those were just some off the top of my head.

Renata trained her sight ahead. From what I could see of her eyes, they had softened. "You didn't have to say it, Oswald. You've been nothing but kind to me all this time. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect gentleman than you."

I put my hands in my pockets. "I owe some of that to my mother."

"She must be an angel of a woman, then."

"You have no idea."

The eccentricities took much getting used to for strangers, though none truly understood. Mother just hadn't been the same since she lost my father and her first three sons. But she still had me, and that was all that mattered.

Renata shook her head. "What I'm getting at is, during these past...how many weeks has it been?"

"Six by my count."

"Sorry, I'm stalling. What I'm trying to say is, I've very much enjoyed these past six weeks. More than you'll ever know. And, if it's okay, I'd like to keep spending time with you."

I swallowed my heart. Was this a confession? A declaration, an affirmation? The muscle in my chest tightened.

She touched my elbow to keep my attention. "I know we still may as well be strangers, given what we know about eachother so far, but I hope that will change day by day. And I hope you're not scared of me, either."

By now, my mind didn't know what it wanted. It was lost in turbulent seas of potential, clashing with the tempest of experience. I swallowed. "Renata, I don't pretend to be closed off to you, or enigmatic, or unreadable."

And I didn't want to be when it came to her, because I wanted her to see that maybe I was hinting just as hard as her. My pride and self-respect wouldn't let me confront this new development head-on, I held out hope that she would be the one to make the decision for me—so that I could not be held responsible. That this derailment to my life was her fault. That she fell in love in the first place.

"Help me, then. Help me understand you," she replied. It wasn't a demand, more of a gentle coaxing. "You're one of the most fascinating people I've ever met, and the more I discover, the more I want to know."

The air around me felt oddly confining. People didn't want to get to know me, that was the bottom line. If they did, then I'd usually give them reason not to, unless they possessed something useful to me—whether an object, a talent, or the muscle necessary to carry out a favor. Otherwise, I gave off a practiced aura of a man who looked best left unengaged.

"That may not be wise, Renata," I said while trying to stem my elated pride at being referred to as interesting enough to know better. "My life hasn't been one of significance or ease at this point, certainly not one lived by the beautiful."

Renata wound down and slowed to a halt. I backtracked one step I overtook, and mirrored her questioningly. An explanation wasn't evident on her, but when it looked like I was about to inquire, she lifted a gentle hand toward me.

I stiffened, tracking her as she neared. Her fingers whisped through the limp stalactite strands of my black hair, tenderly gliding through the roots. Tingles erupted across the plain of my scalp. Raising her other hand as well, both came to settle, flanking my ears and cradling my face. "But you're beautiful to me," she said with the intent that it should have counted for something.

Like the precision strike of a cobra, I clamped her wrist. Closing my eyes instinctively to heighten my sense of touch, I desperately yearned to keep her hands right where they were.

"You have..._no_ idea how long I've waited to hear somebody say that." I barely recall those words rumbling up my throat, I only remember my ears picking up that phrase uttered in my own voice.

Renata's fingertips, fanned out on my temples, were only pleasantly warm, but the sensation burned. I was blind to her reaction, whatever it might have been, but I hoped beyond anything that she would not shrink away now. I needed this. More than I ever thought.

Carried by my dream-like state, I set a delicate kiss on the inner chords of her wrist. It wasn't at all a sensual gesture, it was gratitude, pure and needy.

An unscratchable itch deep within my nose grounded me. I knew exactly what was coming. Clenching my jaw, I staved off the one physical emotion I forbade myself to ever let public again. Anna-Jane was never getting the satisfaction of seeing them more than once, no matter if she wasn't here to witness. I suffocated the building lump in my throat by swallowing it down. However, I could not halt the shuddering sigh. Renata had surely seen the bob of my Adam's apple as I struggled to contain myself.

_'Oh my GOD,' _screeched Wanda Everton's incredulously gleeful voice. '_You actually thought Anna liked you?!'_ Her mocking witch's cackle still sounded like nails on chalkboard, even in memory.

_'Seriously, were you born this creepy, Penguin?'_ sneered Pat Starkey, but he posed it like a legitimate question, like he was actually curious.

_'Bet his mom's an actual penguin,_ _check out his shoes!'_ cut in Johnny._ 'You got actual flippers in there, or something?'_

I wanted nothing more than to sear the memory of Renata's touch into my mind, etch it so violently that the pain would help it stand out even better upon recall. My grasp was moderate on her, but I know my hold was still conveying a message, to not release until I was ready. She listened, but then I felt something I hadn't expected. Snow crunched under her feet as she shifted, and then there was a gentle pressure against my nose and forehead. Daring to open my eyes, a sympathetically sad brown pair was staring back at me. Nose-to-nose, she brushed her thumbs soothingly across my cheekbones.

There was no world above me, beneath me, or surrounding me. I was only here, with the one person I was glad to share that existence with. To Renata's eternal credit, she never said a word. Speaking a single decibel would have shredded such a blissful bubble. I was sorry for the inconvenience I was causing, how I was putting her in a tough, awkward spot, acting like a predator seeking stolen affection. Yet at the same time I wasn't sorry at all.

I wished our interlude could go on until the minutes melted into hours and the sun no longer showed it's face in our little piece of hemisphere, but I had sense of mind still left to know when enough was enough. Seemingly in control of my actions once again, I guided Renata's hands away from my face and lowered them to her sides, as if I were returning them after borrowing.

Renata's studying gaze never left me. Maintaining unwavering eye contact, she said understandingly, "Whenever you're ready to tell me, I'll listen."

I nodded in a mild daze. I seemed like a lost child, as though I'd forgotten life the way it was in its current state and had regressed back into little Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, the child only a mother could love.

So there it was. Just like that. My weakness was exposed to the entire world. _Love. Affection._ Actions so base, so childish, so _plain_.

Owning such a trait is not something I am proud of. I curse my human instincts for overreacting to the reception. Love turns me into a moldable creature, just asking to be taken advantage of. Because I will do anything to get it again.

I would save my self-loathing for later, however, when I was alone in my dark apartment and ripping the curtains in frustration if I so chose. For right then, I let everything be, I let the entire world be. Because just for that moment, I felt scared.

And I felt whole.


	10. Interview

Early on in our relationship I thought once or twice about taking advantage of Renata's good faith in me. She would have been too easy, and she still was. I could rob her blind, smash her trust into jagged shards, grind what was left of the remains under my shoe and walk away, leaving her just as broken but newly world-savvy as me. She probably would have deserved it, too. She pursued _me_, after all, I had every intention of forgetting about her just as soon as I met her.

Now, though? Entertaining the thought would sink heavy like a stone in my gut. My body would react with a strange, nauseating tingle, and I knew why.

Renata, as it turned out, was my most dangerous threat. And the worst part of it all was that she snuck up on me. Her compassion, paired with that easy-going jolliness, creeped like vines until I was already under her spell, no seduction required. Even worse, I was happy with what resulted. Happier than I'd ever been in years. I cared little to whether or not she was compassionate to other people, I only cared that she was compassionate to me.

I knew things were going to be different now. Subtly, inchingly, gradually as it was prone, but a noticeable shift was still there. Two people could not share a moment like ours and have their connection stay exactly as it had before. The wordlessness was the best part. Communication was integral to a relationship's solid foundation, or so I've heard, but Renata and I seemed to be getting along fine without it in the meantime. It was as though we'd acclimated to eachother and found a way to understand silently, like a language just the two of us spoke. We weren't fluent, and we weren't always able to translate flawlessly, but, like opera, some actions knew no language.

I pondered this all while standing in front of the bathroom mirror the next morning, two hours before my ticket patrons were expecting my arrival. Reluctantly, I had to bury that moment from yesterday, even though it had been cycling through my mind ever since.

I had to say, I certainly looked snappy, as though I were walking into a business interview. Better to overdress than under, and a put-together first impression couldn't hurt my chances getting in good with Fish Mooney, even if this meeting was suspicious. Maybe she wouldn't even be present. She hadn't personally invited me, anyway. Maybe it was just a meeting place with somebody else.

Even in broad daylight without the stage of night, the neon-pink light of a skeletal fish in the establishment's window was like a lighthouse beacon guiding me. My outlook was positive on the journey to Fish Mooney's club, yet I smartly stayed cautious, and wary of where my feet stood, metaphorically speaking. She and her associated crowd would no sooner look at me than dismiss me if I didn't use the right language with the right delivery. There was no such thing as 'winging it' when faced with them, they found ways to weaponize words and turn your own against you. I couldn't help but smile at the entrance door as I stood before it; these were my kind of people.

Exhaling a cleansing breath, I pulled the handle.

I blinked sunspots out of my eyes to adjust to the change of brightness, and the place seemed more like a dingy cave for the next few seconds. I grew appreciative of the decor once the door shut behind me and my vision adapted. Soft, romantic interior lighting set anything carved of wood to glow from within the grain. A dark and empty bar stood immediately to my left, unmanned by the looks of it, and surely wouldn't be until later during the club's peak hours.

A towering, boxy fellow in a black suit who had been standing vigil inside spotted me probably well before I even had the chance to notice him, and blocked my path. Chances were this was exactly what he was being paid for. "Fish Mooney is expecting you," he explained robotically, as if they predicted me to be stumped as to who or what this invite was about. "Follow me."

Trying to keep my eyes off his rather distracting unibrow, I let him guide me in the right direction. He led me to a descended seating area housing a stage for guest entertainment. I felt a little bit like Renata seeing the Opera House for the first time, I was silently awed at such luxury all around me. The stage curtain blazed with a rich, royal blue color. The platform could cozily fit a five crew band, depending on the size of their intruments. Booths lined the border, while more intimate, circular tables filled the middle.

All togther the design said quietly classy, the type of place where slow jazz seemed to be the nightly soundtrack.

"Sit right here," said my guide who I assumed to be a bouncer of some sort. He pulled out a chair from one of the median tables. "Fish will be with you momentarily."

The word 'momentarily' sounded stilted coming from his mouth, as if he'd learned it just that morning from his Word of the Day calendar. No doubt he was accustomed to speaking in as few syllables as possible. He had dragged the chair to face away from it's table, placing it alone with no partner. The arrangement appeared more like I was about to be interrogated. Nevertheless, I did what he said and lowered myself into it. The hulking man walked away silently, leaving me with no further instructions.

Taking advantage of this moment of privacy, I smoothed the leftover wrinkles out of my dress pants and fiddled with my necktie. Without a mirror, I resorted to smoothing my fingers over it to measure the knot and make certain it was perfectly symmetrical.

I heard the clack of sure-footed heels before I saw her. When she emerged it was like a curtain had been pulled away for the main attraction that the entire show was building to. Flanked by two very large, muscular men in matching black suits, Fish Mooney led the way, glittering under the ceiling lights in a silver sequined halter dress which held no pretenses of hiding her bountifully toned legs. Her body shined with jewelry at strategic points—chandelier earrings, layered bracelets, a sparkling ring on her right middle finger, and a curling, metallic band on her flawless bicep.

Nearing just a couple feet away from me, she halted in a pose, placing one hand on her hip. It exuded attitude, but she wore a very pleased expression that reached her smoky eyes. "Oswald Cobblepot, I presume?" she said welcomingly.

I stood up quickly like the seat cushion just sent a shock through my spine, tugged the base of my coat, and primly stuck my hands behind my back. "Miss Mooney, it is an honor. To what do I owe this audience with you?"

Fish sized me up from head to toe breezily. "So, you know who I am. Good, then we don't have to waste time with an introduction. Take your seat, darling. I hope you haven't made plans this afternoon."

I did as instructed, even though I didn't like that she refrained from pulling up her own chair, nor did her cronies. The high vantage point—Fish had the intimidation factor, the psychological upper-hand.

"You've met Butch already," she said, gesturing presentingly to a large, burly man in the corner who I hadn't seen walk in.

If this Butch were any other guy, I would have glanced over him like he was nothing. But he wasn't just any other guy. He was the same man seated beside me during _Cyrano._

"Hey, how's it goin', bud?" he said jovially, like he was meeting an old friend.

"So," Fish cut in before I could react accordingly, "did you enjoy the show?"

I wrenched my eyes from Butch out of necessity. "Yes. Yes, absolutely."

"And your guest?"

"We both had the most magnificent evening, I appreciate your gift." It occured to me to lay it on even thicker. Not drizzled to the point of oversaturation, but to keep everything copious and sincere. It couldn't hurt. "Compliments to your taste in theater. Your generosity did not go to waste."

"I'm glad." Her posture and absolute domination of the entire room reminded me greatly of The Queen of the Night. I was almost enamored by such a controlling presence. She was all angles and no trace of softness, every bit the representation of ferocity and more. So much more. This was a woman to learn from. "Let's get down to business then, shall we? We've done some digging, and we found out a lot of interesting things about you, Mr. Cobblepot."

My smile did not fade, but the brightness went out. Though my throat was thick with questions as to the whys and hows of Fish's knowledge of my existence, it was in my best interests to patiently wait her out.

One of her associates handed her a manila folder. Laying it open on her palm, Fish perused through the single, paperclipped page it contained. Though I could see the white edge against beige, the angle was too steep to read any type off the sheet.

Fish started to pace nonchalantly, circling me. "Your family name has _quite_ the history, Oswald Cobblepot. One of the four founding families of Gotham. We had some difficulty connecting that name to you due to an Anglicization of the name Kapelput somewhere in your bloodline."

I swallowed calmly. "That's right."

Her brows perked. "Mm. Hungarian?"

"German."

"Ah," she drawled, feigning polite interest.

If she discovered that much information about my name's history, the file would have said German. She was just toying with me at this point, keeping the reason why she knew who I was in the first place just out of my reach. I'd certainly never met her before, and I was doubly certain we had no mutual accomplices.

Her heels were like a metronome, tapping out a steady, discernible beat. It was meant to make me nervous, and I will not lie, it did make the air a little more tense. The sound was tolerable now, but many hours of it and I was certain even the most sane person could be driven to re-enact one of Poe's most famous anonymous characters.

There was a reason why Fish summoned me here. The more she kept it from me, the more and more I suspected that it was not on as friendly terms as the gift of the opera tickets suggested.

She was now behind me, her meticulous steps never straying and I followed their progress. Fish wasn't just a vessel of sound, she _was_ music. Bangles jingled, earrings chimed, and her voice was strong and supported straight from the diaphragm. The melodic nature of it was put-on, I was sure. Nobody's natural cadence could be that slinkily smooth.

"Miss Mooney," I ventured, finding an opportunity during a small pocket of silence. "I can't help but feel that you did not send me such valuable gifts under the notion that you were feeling particularly giving to a down-on-his-luck stranger."

"Hmm, smart boy," commended Fish sweetly. "You catch on quick. Very well." She came around to face me head-on again and closed the manila folder, passing it off. "Let's cut to the chase."

"I'm ready when you are."

She smirked. "I like that. You see, I've got security cameras focused on every inch of this club's perimeter."

"Oh?" I inquired inquisitively.

"Oh, yes. Let me explain. When clientele in nice suits come around, their toys become shiny little targets. As a prolific property owner, it's bad business to be liable if something bad were to happen to their precious babies, so I keep a valet employed at all business hours." She glanced me over for a reaction.

I ceased blinking. Now was my turn to sound politely interested. "Do you, now. That's very responsible of you."

She held up a finger. "I'm not done. You see, a couple nights ago, one of the young gentlemen employed under me was brutally attacked. Didn't see it coming."

My stomach made an odd lurch noticeable only to me.

"The poor thing was beaten so badly that I needed to put him on medical leave. Out of concern for justice, I had my security team review footage of that night." She was watching me so hard now that her eyes were slits. I could've sworn that she hadn't blinked once. "Lucky your little friend was there to stop you before things really got out of control."

Fish didn't at all look elegant anymore. She was a bejewelled snake, and even though she now had me cornered, I still couldn't help but admire her cunning.

"Being the charitable boss that I am, I paid for part of the hospital expenses and reconstructive surgery. Now that we've traced you, however, what to do with you..." she mused as if I was expected to know the answer and she expected me to voice it. "He must have really said something to get you riled up like that."

"Indeed he did," I said unflinchingly, not in the least bit intimidated. I was justified in my actions that night, I had nothing to hide.

"Would you care to share it with me? For the record, of course."

"Out of respect for my companion, I would rather keep the details vague, but know that it was very untoward, very insulting, and, if I may say, your employee deserved what he got for such unprovoked viciousness." Would politeness still work in this instance? I had just accused a very powerful woman's valet of being the instigator, no matter how I put it.

"I couldn't help but notice how this friend of yours was female. Do you have any romantic attachment to her which may have triggered such an aggressive retaliation against my employee?"

Perhaps the notion that the valet had said something degradingly sexual to Renata might appeal to Fish's feminine side? After all, I was in a position where I could play up the comment to sound like something worse. I went for it anyway. "Whether or not she is or was, that did not excuse him. I am not responsible for his poor manners."

"Well then. Thank you for sharing your side of the story, Mr. Cobblepot."

"That-That's it?" This was the only time I stuttered in her presence that day, but I couldn't blame myself, her reaction had been quite jarring.

"Oh, no. I think we've only just begun."

The hairs on the back of my neck raised. I mentally prepared myself. While her questions so far hadn't been hard to deflect, Fish Mooney was no pushover, and certainly no fool. How personally she took this offence wasn't clear.

"What would you say to a job?" she said.

If I'd been drinking, my shirt would have been soaked down the front. "...I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. A job."

"Miss Mooney, forgive me for not catching on, but did we not just discuss how I had treated an employee of yours none-too-kindly, and—"

"That is irrelevant for the time being. I am not asking you to be his replacement, I am simply asking if you're seeking work. Are you employed?"

"Not at the moment."

"I can make you start within a week."

Needless to say, I was quite baffled at this sudden screeching curve. "Hypothetically speaking, what would this job entail, if I may ask?"

"Oh, little errands here and there. I trust you know your way around the city. Especially where all the best donut shops are for my boys here." She looked over her shoulder to her bodyguards, earrings swinging. "They just love their donuts," she trilled with a motherly wrinkle of her nose, perspective-tapping one of them on the head.

"But if I were summoned here on a matter of assault, then...why the opera tickets?"

She smiled, facing me again. "I knew you would need a little enticement, sweetie. Not everybody gets an offer like this one out of the blue. It would look suspicious, don't you think?"

"Again, forgive me, Miss Mooney, but I'm not quite following."

I expected Fish to glower at me for my apparent stupidity, but instead she laughed brightly. Strutting closer, she looked down on me in my chair, her expression gracious. "Honey, what do you want most out of this world?"

There was no question in my mind. "Anything at all?"

"Anything your little black heart desires." Again she circled me teasingly like a predator, her words short but lasting long after they were gone. "Money...women...you want it, I can give it to you." Her fingernails, like crimson rakes, snaked over my shoulder. The glint of their impeccable, glossy finish hooked my eye.

"Respect," I answered.

Fish's fingers slid away and she straightened imperiously to her full height—which wasn't saying much—and studied me critically. It wasn't a wrong answer. I got the notion she was merely planning her next move now that I gave away a strategic piece. I was willing to give that to her as a trust offering.

Despite such small, compact stature, her gaze could have intimidated a runaway locomotive to a complete stop. She then tapped her glossy lips coyly, feigning the appearance of deep thought. "Sweetheart," she cooed, "by working for me, you would get respect either way. I don't know if anybody has told you, but I've scraped for myself quite the reputation."

"I am very much aware, Miss Mooney."

"Good. Then you see how your request is somewhat redundant."

"I wish for nothing else from you, Miss Mooney. My answer remains the same. If you cannot provide what I seek, then we have no further business with eachother."

Fish placed a hand on her hip and jutted in a modelesque pose, feet planted apart. Those silver-studded, strappy heels were something Renata could never hope to wear without rolling her ankles or spraining a ligament. I could imagine her clunking about as though traipsing on ice, stiff and lacking Fish's grace and poise.

Then, Fish laughed again, which I wasn't too comforted by. The sound was charming, feminine, perfect for lightening the mood in a business setting, but it didn't sound spontaneous as if I'd said something funny. She acknowledged Butch. "What do you think of this one, hm? Typical. You go searching and never find one you want, and then they just fall straight into your lap."

Butch had a chuckle along with her, raising his eyebrows as a sign of agreement. My lips puckered displeasingly. Laughter at my expense was something I didn't react kindly to, and that included secrets I wasn't in on, especially if they had something to do with me.

"How about we discuss the finer points about this little arrangement somewhere more comfortable." Fish placed a hand on my shoulder and gestured to a corner booth. "Eye-to-eye."

I obeyed and rose from my chair, ready to follow. Waiting until she seated herself first, I then slid in opposite. My clothing blocked most of my skin contact with the sinfully plush velvet, but my palms sank flat when I used them to maneuver my way in.

Unprompted, one of her men set a martini in front of her. "Anything for you?" she offered.

I flashed my palm. "No, no, thank you." My stomach was flip-flopping too much to conceivably keep anything down.

With a full table separating us, our situation felt more and more like a business negotiation, which I found to be quite a thrilling circumstance. The woman across from me was as glamorous as a vintage Hollywood starlet and as monstrous as a shark in blood-tinted waters. If rumors on the street were to be believed, she was also equally as vicious in negotiation as well as the bedroom.

"Here's my offer," said Fish, lounging sidelong, her martini left untouched. "I am allowing you to work off your debt to me. A percentage of your paycheque every two weeks will go to paying off your damage until the debt is off. Does that sound fair to you?"

"Exceedingly so," I said, perhaps a bit thunderstruck. Everything I'd been looking for was right here; a job, and a step-up. There was very little I wasn't willing to do. I offered my hand. This was too serendipitous to pass up. "You have a deal, Miss Mooney."

"Ah, ah, not so fast," said Fish, holding up a warning finger. "Understand that I expect quite a bit of obedience from you. When I say sit, you sit. When I say fetch, you fetch. When I say jump through the hoop, you...?" She raised her brows expectantly.

"Jump through the hoop."

"Very good. You're learning already." She finally shook my hand, and I swore I could feel that pump as finalized and as tangible as a gavel coming down. "Any questions before we wrap up this deal?"

"Can I just ask you more for thing?"

She nodded once.

"Why me? Of all people? You could have easily had the police deal with this."

Fish smiled tightly, scooping up her martini glass in a downplayed but stylish manner, swirling the contents once. "Experience has taught me that you want the scrappers on your side, the ones that don't mind playing dirty." She kissed the glass rim, never once letting me out of her sight. She took a sophisticated sip, tipping rather than leaning her head back. So steady was her hand that the liquid scarcely glimmered when she set it down. "You're like me, in a way. People took one look and wrote me off, too. But I see something in you."

"And what would that be?"

Fish smirked and waggled her finger chastisingly. "Ah, ah, ah, that's my little secret for now. If you can prove to me you're worth keeping around, perhaps I can be a little more lenient towards that unfortunate incident the other night. Memory is a tricky little thing, wouldn't you agree?"

I caught on instantly. "Oh, yes. Completely."

"I'm glad you see it that way," she responded airily. "You start on Friday. Butch."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Show our Mr. Cobblepot to the door, please."

I didn't want to be dismissed, I wanted to learn more details, but Butch promptly stood at our table like a doorman and I reluctantly vacated my seat.

"And by the way," said Fish, pointing a gel claw at me. "Think of what you're wearing now as standard uniform. I expect to see you in it again next time."

I nodded vigorously. "Thank you for this opportunity, Miss Mooney. I am grateful."

Her dark lips stretched in a smile, slow and sharp. "Call me Fish. All my friends do."

* * *

**A/N: Didn't realize I was running so far behind on my updates, time slipped right by me. My apologies! I know, I want this story done just as much as you guys do. If at anytime you guys feel like I need a fire lit under me, send me a PM or leave a comment. A little motivation and spurring works wonders!**

_Shenendoah_ \- Touching AND beautiful? Eee! That's promising. Great to know what you thought *salute*

_jacki_ \- D'aww, thank you! :D


	11. Mother

I held off breathing freely until I put several blocks between me and Fish Mooney. Truthfully, it all went better than expected. Tremendous, in fact. I was ready to lay on the charm—of a lingual variety, of course, I am more than aware that my looks don't get me anywhere—but Fish cut to the quick. Of all the scenarios I mapped out in my mind, this was one I hadn't considered. I needed to be sharper when it came to surprises. I promised myself I'd work on it, even if the very nature of the word surprise meant unpredictability, but I liked the idea of having control.

If there was one wise thing my father left me with, it was that the world didn't owe you a goddamn thing. If you could not contribute and earn your place, you were worthless. So be it, then. I would earn my respect. If by work alone proved impossible, then I would seize it, thereby proving by principal that I was somebody worthy of powerful seating.

And then, the pep in my step dimished when a dark realization washed over me. Renata. Where did she fit into all of this?

Surely it couldn't be too complicated. In theory. But as most things are, this was potentially an issue of easier said than done. It was simply a matter of fact, I was going to make enemies. I couldn't protect her 24/7, and bodyguards would raise her suspicions. Like I could even afford bodyguards anyway. This wasn't the life for her. She deserved the aftermath; a golden palace, more money than she'd know how to spend, and the security of knowing she was safe. The path there, though, was rickety, far from promised, and some would say not worth the effort at all.

Maybe I was getting too ahead of myself by making a monumental decision in her stead. But how could one approach such a delicate subject to which the perils at hand were not always black and white, where greed and opportunity were not always synonymous, and where retaliation was currency? I couldn't simply sit her down over dinner and explain who exactly I was associating myself with. First of all, I cared deeply for Renata, but I didn't know how far I could trust her with a secret yet. Organized criminal activity wasn't the breeziest of topics. And second of all, would that secret destroy the solidifying foundation we were building? Was she capable of calling the police on me one day? Admittedly, the GCPD pecked straight from Fish Mooney's hand, among from others even higher up like Falcone and Maroni, but it only took one honest cop or politician to bring me in, however rare one would be. Like I said, I had to prepare myself for every scenario now that it was wise to watch my back.

I returned to my dingy home, rather miffed that some rodent had obviously been chewing the corner of my welcome mat.

Again.

Sighing, I instantly forgot about that and plodded to the chair beside my telephone sidetable. Rubbing my eyes in mental exhaustion of the bittersweet kind, I blindly slapped the phone's blinking red light indicating a message.

"Oswald!" came my mother's garbled, and rather peeved voice. I froze, eyes peeking over the shield of my fingers like she were in the room with me. "I call for nearly an hour. For many days you not call me, I stay up all night worried sick!" A pause, and then her voice was gentle and cooing, but melancholy. "I miss you, my boy. You don't want to talk to your mama no more? Don't break my heart, I miss my sweet boy. Call back, please." _BEEP._

Compelled by guilt, I barely waited for the signal that the message ended and tapped out my mother's number. Damn, she gets me everytime. Mother answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" she chimed, knowing exactly who called despite her antique rotary dial telephone being unequipped for caller I.D.

"It's me," I said fondly.

"Oh, my Oswald," she trilled. Then she turned admonishing. "Where have you been for so long?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—there was a lot of things I was dealing with, and—"

"So you forget about your mother."

"No! No, never. I just—" Renata's image, jolly and radiant, appeared in my mind. "There were just some things that happened lately that kept me busy."

Mother's voice went dark. "Like a woman?"

"Yeh-_NO_! No, no, no." I mentally slapped myself. Mother would pry way too much, she wasn't ready, she'd ask too many questions I didn't know the answers to yet. Adding the tumultuous state of my future with Renata, inviting the two to meet was just asking for more trouble on my plate than I could handle.

"You never tell me anything anymore," Mother whined. "This girl is making you keep secrets. Soon she will sink her red claws into you."

Too late for that. "Ma, there is no girl."

"Oh no, no, do not give me that. A mother knows."

"But there isn't." Why did Renata's face become so much more prominent the more I denied it? "...Really."

Mother was hardly convinced and I could picture her scowling on the other side.

"I've actually been filling my time by going to job interviews. Quite a few of them," I insisted. Exaggerated, but technically true. "Good news—I got hired."

Mother's voice morphed instantly. "Oh, I'm so happy to hear! 'Cause they realize how smart you are!"

I shrugged humbly, even though she couldn't see the gesture. "Well, maybe," I teased, adding a laugh.

She giggled along with me. "I always knew somebody would see your talent. I _always_ knew."

"Because a mother always knows, right?"

"Always."

"Look, I know I haven't spoken to you a lot lately. To make it up to you, how about I take you to the opera next month?" I'd at least be paid by then. My smile carried into my voice. "I hear _Die Zauberflöte_ is scheduled soon."

"Oh, that was always your favorite," Mother squealed. "You are always so good to me. Okay. I _suppose_ I can forgive you. I love you so much, sweetheart."

"I love you more."

"Oh," she murmured, overcome. I could hear her happiness. "Impossible."

"I'll call you again tomorrow, okay?"

Mother probably had a snowstorm of gossip waiting for me like she always did, but I managed to redirect her into a good mood in which she didn't mind sitting on it for a little longer. "Okay. Then you can tell me all about your new job."

"I will. Goodbye."

"Bye, my sweetheart."

After returning the receiver to it's cradle, I slumped and let out a lung-draining breath as if I'd dodged a bullet. Guilt nagged at me for lying to my mother about the true source of my time drain, but it was in everyone's best interests to stay unaquainted for now. Renata wouldn't be able to handle the grueling interrogation, Mother wouldn't be able to handle that somebody else was in my life, and I wouldn't be able to handle being in the middle. Top that off with a new job in which I would be watched with eagle eyes, it was a lot on my shoulders.

I reveled in the sense of joy from it all. I hadn't encountered this much action in months. I felt alive.

There was one more phone call I had to make. Muscle memory had already charted the pattern long ago, I could punch in that number blindfolded. I drummed my fingers on my knee, waiting out the ringing cycle. She picked up after the second go. "Hello?"

"Renata?" It felt good to say her name.

"Hey, Oswald!" she chirped. "What's going on?"

"I just wanted to tell you. I got hired."

"Really? That's so great!" she said cheerily, her voice bright even through the tinny speaker. "So, what is it? What were you hired for?"

"Well, the details aren't on paper yet, but basically an errand boy. The bottom rung of the ladder for now, but..." I juggled with the correct phrasing, "...there are options to work my way up eventually."

"There's no shame in starting from the bottom. My parents did the same when they first had to move here. You'll get there."

I was already secure enough from my own self-encouragement, but her belief in me was still bolstering, like I had somebody on my side. "You sound confident."

"I am." She was silent for a beat. "Hey, you know what? We should totally do something. You know, to celebrate. We'll go to a nice restaurant and everything, it'll be fun. Only if you're up to it, though, I don't know if the other day was...difficult for you, or not."

"_No_, no, no , no," I insisted, deflating just a little bit. In fact, I didn't want to mention that small moment of vulnerability I had ever again. "I'm better than ever. What you saw was just fleeting, I would very much like to celebrate. With you."

"You got it. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I will be for the next few days."

"Perfect. I've got the morning shift, so I'll be ready by evening tomorrow. Then we'll meet in Robinson Park. At our spot. Five o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

"See you then. Oh, and Oswald?"

"Yes?"

"I can't wait." _Click._

I must've let the dial tone drone in my ear for five seconds before I set the receiver down. I was just digging the hole deeper—to my premature grave, potientially.

* * *

**A/N: Oh my gosh, oh my gosh *dances on tippy-toes, fans self uncontrollably* Today I just hit 100 Alerts. 100—count, that, ONE **_**HUNDRED**_**—people have put this story on Alert! This is a major milestone, I've never had a turn-out like this in the history of my entire fanfiction "career".**

**To every single individual who clicked **_**Necessary Evil**_** and gave me a chance and was interested enough to stick with it, thank you forever. I love every single one of you, I am indebted, and you'll never be just a number to me. You're each individuals who, for some reason or other, decided **_**Necessary Evil **_**was worth keeping up with. Whether it was because you thought it was good, or a complete train wreck that you just couldn't turn away from, thanks for taking time out of your day for me :D**

_jacki_ \- Ooo, how I hate to leave readers in suspense for too long, but since we're approaching the ending, I simply must keep silent! I'm liable to explode at any moment from the mounting pressure of keeping it all in, but it's necessary. So you'll have to sit tight for now, but know that I love your enthusiasm :D


	12. Aquatic

Though our meeting would only take place in the evening, I was awake by 9:00 AM and had no idea what to do with myself. It wasn't the most restful of nights. To give my thoughts a break the previous night, I turned in early, hoping for respite in the morning and that enough time would pass to forget about my dilemma. But there it was, waiting for me the moment I opened my eyes to a weak, blue glow peaking through the cheap Venetian blinds. My problem waited all night for me, stationed sentry and ready to reactivate where it left off at a second's notice. Sleep did nothing.

I don't know how long I used the shower for; ten minutes? A half hour? An hour? Time is difficult to acknowledge when in another state of mind. I do remember the chrome shower drain being very in focus, though. Occasionally the perforated holes would spin when I focused too much. I watched it with a glazed look as I lamented how I much preferred baths, but hell if this tiny cubicle of a living space had the capacity for a tub.

This was everything I ever wanted, right? I had my foot in the door to where I wanted to go, and the only thing that could possibly stop me was me. If Renata found fault in my goal, whether she sided lawfully or ethically, I told myself I could give up on her without a second thought and leave her in the dust. My ambitions were here well before her. It would be easy to leave the first woman who willingly came to my rescue. Cut ties with the first woman who requited my affections. Sever my connection with the first woman who responded to me emotionally the way I always wished one could. Not like I ever needed any of that dreck in my life...

I raked back my sodden hair, sighing. I had been so happy yesterday, like I was finally free to love her. I never knew for sure whether or not Renata and I would go the distance, but I never expected it doomed to be this short-lived, to have my tiny candle lit only to be extinguished by a hurricane gust.

What was certain, though, was that I couldn't figure this all out in a day. If she did stay even after everything I did and said, she was not prepared for what I'd be dragging her into. I was courting the mob, cavorting with secretive criminals under the guise of legitimate business. Renata would never approve. Her upbringing was too wholesome, too honest to conclude anything else. Her sour opinion of Falcone and confidence in the GCPD told me all I needed to know. The grey in-between eluded her.

I filled the rest of the day's time by running errands—checked mail, paid bills, and changed that _goddamn_ lightbulb. All I had to do was see how tonight went. That's it. The answer would come to me on it's own.

Complacency in my attire was still not an option. I dressed in the same smartly casual manner Renata had always known me by. I wanted to please her, of course I did—because maybe that would better entice her to stay.

The sun set earlier these days, and I arrived at Robinson Park during the beautiful, clear, twilight hour. I was about twenty minutes early, but there were no chores left in my apartment to distract me. Besides, I didn't mind returning to _our_ bench, as we'd apparently been taken to calling it. Leaning my head back, supported by the upright seat, I lost myself in the sky.

* * *

"Cloud watching?"

My first interruption in ten minutes. I lifted my head to find Renata curiously imitating my stare up at the sky.

"Considering the constituent necessary for cloud watching is absent this evening, try again," I countered.

She smirked wryly in response. "Well, you got me there." Her lips were tight, almost letting the joke get the better of her.

I stood on my feet for a proper greeting. As I opened my mouth to voice it, Renata energetically gathered me in her arms without ceremony. "Oswald, I'm so happy for you. I know you'd been looking forward to finding a job for a while."

It always still surprised me whenever she did that. Old habits. Hesitating only a second, I returned her embrace with equal ferocity for the very first time, burying my nose in her hair, subtly breathing in her signature scent. The familiarity calmed me, made me think that this relationship was still worth persuing. My chance for romance still remained active.

"You ready?" she said, pulling away.

"Lead the way."

Within minutes we arrived to a charming little corner restaurant, just in time for sun to have completely disappeared.

"Thought I'd treat you to a nice dinner as a congratulations," Renata said, beaming. "I wish I were creative enough to suggest somewhere new, but as finances are, this is all—"

I held up a hand, and she stopped. "As long as you're there, it'll always be good enough."

Renata bashfully crossed her arms. She then darted her eyes conspiratorially and whispered aside, "By the way, between you and me, I don't think I'll ever get tired of good food," ending it with a wink.

After we'd been seated by the hostess in a cozy booth, I already felt restless. I tapped my finger on the table, lightly enough to muffle the knock of bone on wood, but Renata seemed to hear it anyway. She didn't inquire, but she certainly noticed everytime I did it and would gaze over ponderingly.

Over dinner, she finally seemed to pluck up the courage to ask, "Something wrong?"

"Hm? Oh. No, no."

"You sure? You seem a little antsy."

I waved it off with a lazy flick. "Arbitrary musings that have no pull in the long run." I smiled in a reassuring way that I hoped was convincing. "In other words, nothing."

I don't know how it got past her, that lie was spread on thicker than wet concrete, but she seemed to accept my answer. "Okay," she said carefully, but it was enough to know that I got through fine.

Now wasn't the time to dwell on my decision. Especially somewhere so public. Still, it was rather draining. I couldn't enjoy myself at the carefree level I wanted to.

My name was uttered, distant and fuzzy, from somewhere. I heard it again. _Oswald. Oswald._

"Oswald?"

I jolted, realizing I'd been staring at my knees for who knew how long. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The wine," said Renata, holding the selection menu. "I've never been any good at choosing a good one, I can't tell a Merlot from a Bordeaux." She passed it to me.

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course," I conceded, accepting the laminated card.

At least I was mentally present when she toasted in honour of my good fortune.

Our meal ended in mild fanfare, though not for lack of trying by Renata's end. One of my lasting regrets is that I didn't live in that moment and enjoy it more.

Night descended by the time we left the restaurant, and truth be told, I felt like I hadn't eaten anything at all. Renata adjusted her coat to match the cool air, and looked me over. "You seem a little distracted tonight," she said.

"Jitters," I explained, smiling feebly.

"Oh? Is there something making you nervous?"

Becoming Fish Mooney's errand boy? Potentially losing Renata's trust? Or losing her in general should I cross the wrong people? "I just really don't want to disappoint my employer," I settled on. "It wasn't easy getting in."

"Is that all?" said Renata sweetly. She patted my shoulder. "Listen, you'll do _fine._"

Oh, I planned on it. "I appreciate the encouragement," I said in a grateful but finalizing tone, like I simply needed a little reassurance. I would have rather not elaborated any further. I wanted to keep her happy for as long as possible.

Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Hey, I know a relaxing place we can go!"

I supposed I owed her something for being such lousy company over a dinner that was supposed to be celebrating my achievement.

Arm hooked with mine, she led me along the sidewalk for the improvised part two of our evening, saying she preferred to keep her destination a surprise. Through five blocks we traveled until the nightlife gave way to a rather artisian, mellow area just south of Gotham University. Crossing the street, we came upon a football-field sized courtyard complete with winding cobblestone paths, edges bordered by well-kept foliage and manicured grass. The paths expanded into larger square spaces at various intervals to fit a chess table or two, or benches, before narrowing again and continuing their winding, never-ending way.

But Renata wasn't leading me to a rousing game of strategy, or a quiet stroll. She headed in the direction of the large, distinguished, brown building at the head of it all.

"The Gotham Aquarium?" I questioned, recognizing it.

"Mm-hm," Renata confirmed. "I know, I know, it sounds like a weird place for an outing, but I remembered when I went here for a third grade field trip. It was my turn the next day to stand in front of the class and present some sort of science project, I can't even remember what it was anymore. I'd been stressing over it for days, I was failing the subject enough as it was. When we came here for an afternoon, I wandered on my own and became distracted enough where I forgot why I was so anxious in the first place. It was calming. At least I find."

I craned my neck back as we neared the aquarium. If only Renata knew what I really needed to tell her. While I appreciated her efforts, I wasn't sure how a couple fish were going to work like magic and offer me serenity.

I smiled at her anyway. "It's worth a try."

Gratefully it was evening, I wouldn't have been able to tolerate teems of screeching children had we come in during school hours, or late afternoon. Luckily for Renata and I, the aquarium's lobby appeared near empty, save for two employees. No line, and very few families or singular guests currently viewed the mediocre fish-tanks within sight, just before the path curved off to more enticing displays.

After acquiring passes, the woman at the ticket desk happily pointed us to the designated linoleum path, color-coded by, what else, but an oceanic blue.

An introductory wall of indwelling fish tanks were mounted like enormous square windows, a seamless look into another world, just a small tester to what we would see just out of sight ahead. These piscean specimens were certainly not typical fishbowl fare, they were exotic looking things, some splashed with color so bright they appeared to be luminscent, others with strange fronds and stalks jutting from their bodies.

I allowed Renata to lead, she seemed more keen on it. Moving on from the three starter tanks in the lobby, we entered through an opening ahead that mimicked a glittering, dim cavern. Very soft lighting within glimmered against millions of tiny rocks embedded in the coarse flooring and walls, almost as if it were a real cave lit with lanterns every few yards.

I trailed behind, but Renata never strayed too far and never rushed me. Sometimes I wouldn't even pay attention to the sea life, I would just mull over and over if we would ever have the chance to do this again. For the record, I would certainly have liked to, I had no doubt.

As she roved over the butterflyfish, her face was lit up by the gentle, aqualine glow of the water. She was right in a way. The aquarium, while unorthodox, was surprisingly relaxing, far from the hum of many people packed into one enormous dining room. I could hear my own thoughts, for one. Calming blue and the sea creature's lazy paddling eased me more than I cared to acknowledge. I even placed my hands in my pockets while admiring.

"The petting pool should still be here," mused Renata, five steps ahead of me, searching left and right.

Right on cue, she entered a spacey, open room, still cavern-like but better lit than the ongoing halls of fish reservoirs. Done so as not to ruin the undersea glow the main attractions cast, I'd imagine.

A long, shallow pool contained by a granite, knee-high edge took up much of the space. We weren't alone, but the company wasn't at all stifling, just a family of four at the other end, leaving us to ourselves on ours.

The pool's floor was filled by a layer of sand and one and a half feet of crystal clear water. Renata happily crouched over a lonely baby stingray ambling by, no larger than the span of a frisbee. She carefully dipped her fingers into the pool, submerging to her forearm, and stroked the seacreature's stormy grey skin in smooth motions using only two fingers, wary of the tail. Her refracted arm warped and undulated in the disturbed water.

"Oh-ho, wow," she said, eyes trained on the rocky ceiling, a mix between awe and slight discomfort, like the texture was something she hadn't expected at all. Or maybe completely expected. "Come feel this."

I grimaced good-naturedly and shook my head. "No, thank you. I can see it from here."

"Oh, come on," she encouraged teasingly. "It won't bite you."

"Obviously. It's mouth is on it's underside."

"Come on," she drawled flatly, suppressing an eye roll. Retracting her arm with a splash, she flicked off excess water, showering the surface. Paying no mind how wet and cold her skin was, she reached for my dry hand and tugged me to sit on the edge next to her. As soon as I complied, she neatly rolled up my sleeve and submerged my fingers, guiding them over the sting ray's wing.

"See?" she said, grinning excitedly at me. "Weird but amazing, huh?"

Wet rubber was my closest estimation. Wet rubber coated with a layer of dish soap. Frankly, it felt disgusting. Though it was not possible for the stingray to actually be slimy, it was enough to give off the sensation of being so.

"Certainly strange," I granted.

Due to our mirrored positions in which our torsoes twisted backward to view the petting pool, our knees were touching. Since Renata was still busy with her friend, I stole a pensive moment to myself when she wasn't looking, taking advantage of a chance to just watch her work naturally the way she always did. The area just above her ear hovered so close that I could discern the many singular brown strands.

I didn't have to lean far. I gently placed a kiss on that spot.

I don't know why I did it. Any number of reasons could have been the culprit.

Renata's fingers sort of froze in position. It was enough where I was able to free myself, but I didn't stray far. Her sight kept trained on the stingray, but a shy smile stretched her lips. She cleared her throat tenderly. "Yeah, I think this little guy's had enough of us." She let the animal flutter away.

I was kind of glad she didn't confront me about it. I was rather preoccupied with just absorbing the moment to memory should it have been one of our last. We both knew what happened, why acknowledge it? Whilst Renata was concentrating a little too hard on how thick the layer of sand at the bottom of the pool was, the growing pink of her ears practically glowed.

Noticing one stingray that escaped her, she pressed her belly flat on the edge and reached out. "Hey, hey, hey, where are you going, little guy?" Stretching her arm and twiddling her fingers, she caught an edge, but the creature's rubbery wing fluttered away from her touch and it meandered further on. Renata drew back, playfully disappointed. "Awh. Tell me when that one rounds the bend. It's not getting away from me."

A minute or so later, her rather stuffy friend was coming in for another lap. Right as it glided by, Renata dipped in and slid two fingers along it's body. The ray was unfazed, never ceasing it's swimming motions. "Gotcha," Renata murmured triumphantly.

We moved on shortly after, leaving the two children and their parents full access to the petting pool. Shark tanks were strategically placed last, always the highlight of any aquarium, and truly, I probably hovered in front of that partiular one longer than any other. What was it about apex predators that captivated one's attention so? Those deadened, instinctual eyes, the fear they invoked...

Renata's nose was almost pressed to the floor-to-ceiling window, her eyes darting casually over the five lemon sharks in total. There was a hesitant fascination in her expression, and also a touch of gratitude that a thick pane of near unbreakable, treated glass separated her from a grisly fate. I stepped side-by-side with her and we watched in silence.

Glancing behind over my shoulder, I noticed how alone we were. The cavern walls behind us sparkled in the tank's soft azure light. We were far enough away from the petting pool that I heard nothing from the family we'd left behind, not even their distant echos.

I then stole my second look of the night. That was when moments of deepest reflection emerged, and I discovered the harshest truth. It didn't matter whether or not Renata would willingly join me in my new life; I now realized that in her doing so, that environment would change her. She wouldn't be the same Renata as before. She wouldn't ever be this carefree again.

A venomous nausea spread through my veins. Would I be able to live with myself knowing I condemned this woman to a fate tied with me? I wouldn't have cared, shouldn't have cared if she were anybody else, but for the past six weeks my body performed such mutinous betrayal on a regular basis. Greed had never been a more attractive option, secrets had never been more crucial to keep, just for the sake of things staying the same.

"You've been awfully quiet tonight," said Renata softly. "You sure you're not worried about something?"

"Nothing at all."

* * *

My hands were clenched tightly in my coat pockets on the journey to her home to drop her off. I didn't have to, but I wanted to. I grew more tense by the hour, knowing that the closer we got to her house, the closer I'd be getting to having to say _something_ to divert suspicion. There was only so much I could deny when it was all written clear as day on my face. Wet gravel and silt scraped under our shoes, the only sounds driving in my ears.

Renata broke my reverie, snaking her arm through the crook of mine.

"You know what?" she said, breaking the long silence. "I kind of like the way you talk."

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Do you?" I asked curiously.

"Yeah. You've got this really fancy way of speaking. Aristocratic is the right word, I think. It's just like your name; you don't hear it often, but it's really quite nice when you do."

Porches belonging to her row of houses were coming up. The streetlamp in front of hers was the only one extinguished, leaving her house and lawn draped in darkness.

Renata frowned at the streetlamp. "Hm, guess it finally went out. It's been blinking for weeks."

I followed her up the three wooden steps, figuring seeing her off was the most noble way to end the night.

Standing before her front door, instead of placing her hand on the knob, Renata promptly faced me. "You know, I meant what I said the other day. I'll listen if you need it."

Feeling emboldened, I balled both her hands in mine, brought them up, and placed a kiss across her knuckles. "Thank you. And I am grateful for a wonderful evening. Your offer meant a lot."

I was glad for the darkness, the ability to blend into the night, away from prying eyes, for this was a moment just between us, and one I was glad nobody else was privy to but me. Her onyx eyes glittered even through shadow and shade. Hypnotic they were, just like under the hotel awning...

My world gradually went black, but I was rewarded greatly for it. Her lips were just as sweet as I'd remembered them.

It went on longer. Longer than I anticipated. The longest kiss I'd ever received in my entire life. Her hand was squeezing my shoulder now while her other soon found a place on my upper arm. I was still too afraid to touch or hold her anywhere on her body. I feared that shudder, that recoil.

I needed to sit, I swore my knees would give out any moment. Mercifully, she retracted before I was on the verge of collapse. I exhaled in a quick puff. I was almost intimidated to open my eyes, but I did. Had I done it well? Did she enjoy it as much as I had? I didn't think I could ever get tired of it, though.

"Thanks for joining me," she said softly.

I could only nod.

Turning away, she grasped the knob and stepped forward, but was stopped short when she bumped loudly into an unbudgeable door. She forgot to unlock it.

I pretended to suddenly be transfixed by the night sky, allowing her time to mumble and clumsily jingle her keys correctly until her house bade her entry. She scurried over the threshold, and for a moment I thought she would dismiss me without a word, but she whirled around, peeking through a crack wide enough to only frame her face and one leg. She cleared her throat sheepishly, fingertips tensely pressing on the wood panel. "Could've sworn I—that I had—"

I smiled and waved with a small flex of my fingers. "Good night."

Renata ceased stammering and her expression melted. "Good night," she returned, breathlessly content, and then softly closed the door. I waited until the click before I even thought of leaving.

I swore I could taste her lemon-flavoured lip gloss for hours. I found it in little corners of my mouth even in the late hours of the night, still clinging to me; why would I wipe it off?

The comfort of my bed offered no solace, though. The answer I sought never came. All night it evaded me. I now came to the point in my life where I was presented with a choice in which the scales did not tip in the slightest favor of either.

Ultimately, a decision needed to be reached.

And it wasn't hers to make.


	13. Resolution

**A/N: **_**Warning**_** \- My author's note at the end contains a spoiler. Do not scroll down until you have completed the chapter if you wish to not have the ending given away before you've even read it. I'm just looking out for the people who always scroll down to read author's notes first (I see you there...I know, I've done it too).**

* * *

The morning after was one of the worst I had known for a long time.

Today was the day. I knew exactly how it would end and where I'd be by the end of it.

I don't know if Fish Mooney was aware of the depth of my involvement with Renata, but that Butch fellow sure knew. He'd seen the way I'd whispered in her ear during our evening at the opera, he'd seen the way I doted on her that night, he'd seen more than enough to know the truth. Renata wouldn't be important to them on her own. The fact that she was attached to _me_ would, though. No threat was made on her yet, but staying ahead of the curve was vital.

I shifted to my side in my bed and sighed so drainingly that I had to close my eyes. I juggled with the idea of waiting just one more day, one more week, one more month, just for her to be happy, but it would be a sham. That idea would only be beneficial to me and extend what needed to be done.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my body too heavy, weighed down with nothing more than an overwrought mind and a passionate unwillingness to end my happiness. Three scenarios presented themselves to me like cards in a deck: Renata as a friend, as a lover...and as a wife, should that hand be dealt. My fantasy formed an enormous, luxuriously fluffy bed in a fine master bedroom, all part of a gorgeous manor, and the crowning piece of it all would be right next to me, lying on her stomach, smiling contently in her sleep, the airy white sheets clutched off-shoulder and bunched underneath her, her hair splayed freely over bare skin.

I never entertained much thought of having children at any point in my life. I would likely be a cold, unemotional caregiver, I was never any good with them. Additionally, the necessary component to sire one was scarce enough as it was, I never really had need to even think of a future that had little halves of my DNA. But if Renata, as queen of my empire, ever asked me to, I did not think I would hesitate to bestow that wish should she have wanted it more than anything. Maybe I could even warm up to the idea of having children of my own. I could correct my father's mistakes, be a better man than he'd ever been to me.

Then, Renata was on the manor kitchen's shiny linoleum floor, dressed in fine clothing, a trail of blood leaking beneath her, dead by assassin's hand. Even my most optimistic, idyllic fantasies could not compete, this scenario was the likeliest of all to happen.

I rubbed my eyes to banish the mental picture, but it even blazed against my eyelids like it was tattooed there. _I'm sorry, Renata._ I wish I could say it was viable to just wait everything out and see what happened first before doing anything rash, but I had been prepared for years to fight tooth and nail for my goal. And a little stimulation of the heart wasn't supposed to change that.

But I could do something for her sake. Spare everybody the future pain and suffering.

I could find another Renata someday. Someone who would understand my line of work, share similar aspirations, a girl more street-wise instead of naive.

Most unlike myself, I groaned inwardly like a child. I didn't want another plaything. I wanted Renata. Plausibly many potential kindred spirits passed through my life without me ever being aware, but as circumstances were, none were so substantial as the woman before me now. For nobody else really tried, went out of their way, overstepped my boundary, ignored my frigid barrier, or possibly never noticed one at all.

Peeling back the blankets was downright painful because of what it was taking me one step closer to. Today. It had to be today.

Like a mindless drone, I carried out my morning routine on auto-pilot. My eyes were glazed and I took nothing in. Unintentionally, I dressed all in black. Black—the color of mourning.

After nothing else could stall me—not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle of my clothing—I sat down on the faded armchair beside the phone. I watched the handle like it would burn upon touching, specially waiting for me. Lifting the receiver, I held the phone to my ear, the flat dial tone ready. I poised my fingers over the buttons.

There was still time. I could turn back. I could stop this.

The tip of my finger collapsed from the unintentional force I used on the first button, and it enacted a sequence that had to be seen to completion. Every number sank to the tune of my heartbeat.

I drummed my fingers on my knee. Maybe she wouldn't be home. Maybe she was at work. Maybe she—

"Hello?"

I discovered I was crushing and rolling the curled phone cord between my fingers. _Hang up, hang up, HANG UP._

"...Hello?"

"Renata?"

"Hi, Oswald!"

She recognized my voice. My heart pulsed warmly at the thought. "Hi. I...listen, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. About..."

"Us?" she said almost knowingly.

I cleared my throat. "Erm, precisely. And I'd like to see you again."

"Is it about last night? Is everything okay?"

"Absolutely. This is nothing to worry about, I just found that...I missed you. A lot." Which was true, at least.

"You did?" she said warmly.

"Very much. If you'll allow it, I would like to spend another day with you. All I need is your permission." I briefly wondered if perhaps she mistook my formalities as charm.

She chuckled faintly. "I'd tell you yes almost everytime. Did you want to meet anywhere again?"

"No need. I would rather pick you up personally."

"I'd really like that," she said warmly.

"Expect me at seven."

"Okay, that's perfect. Anything else?"

"Not for the moment. I'll see you then."

"Okay. Bye."

"Goodbye." I hung up, not happy in the slightest. For the first time in my life, I was presented with the other side. Not to mention the option to pursue it. The other side of what life could be.

Early evening was the perfect time. I had a lot of planning ahead of me.

* * *

I stood on her porch's doormat, an hour early. I shouldn't have, but I just couldn't delay seeing her. I raised my fist to her door, but paused before knocking. The weight of my decision bore heavy on my shoulders with the realization that my happiness would be gone by tonight. I got an overwhelming urge to turn on my heel and call Renata from a payphone to apologize and tell her something came up, something that would delay such a fateful parting for us. Last night's kiss burned guiltily on my mouth. I stood on this very spot not even twenty-four hours ago.

But a Cobblepot's tenacity does not crumble. Bracing myself, I knocked, and waited.

The door swung open, and there stood Renata, occupied by a cordless phone she held to her ear. She blinked a few times, perplexed that I was standing on her doorstep before the promised time.

Nevertheless, she stood aside and beckoned me in. Her eyes then grew distant when a tinny warbling echoed from the phone. "_Ochi! Kaneís,_" Renata said insistently and paced further away from me.

I politely shut the door behind me and stood on the welcome mat, noticing the couch in the living room. I recalled the night we had both fallen asleep there. She seemed so undiscovered to me then. A phantom throb pounded in my knuckles. Renata wasn't happy with me that night, but everything ended up working out better than I could have possibly foreseen.

Her back was positioned to me, so I felt no judgement in looking a little lower than what would be deemed decent. Her casual daywear was eye-catchingly flattering to me. Black lycra half-pants and a form-fitting white long-sleeve with the sleeves rolled up. No curve went undefined. Not even her dress at the opera gave me this much of a view.

Renata turned around in my direction and puffed her cheeks, sending a cluster of hair aloft, and I quickly concerned myself with a scuff on the tip of my shoe. "_Neh_, mom. Okay. Okay, I promise. _Se agapó_, okay? _Tha ta poume_."

Judging by her lowered tone, I assumed that was some sort of farewell in Greek. It was correct to assume, as she then pulled the phone off her ear and pressed the off button.

"My mom," she explained, waggling the phone. "Called to check on me." She placed it upright in it's charger on the entrance sidetable. "Oswald, what are you doing here so early?"

"Begging your pardon, I know it's rude to just turn up uninvited like this, especially before our agreed time, I just-"

"Relax," she said consolingly, patting my shoulder. "It's not like you're unwelcome. Come in, I can even start getting ready right now, if you don't mind waiting a little bit."

"There really is no rush. If you were in the middle of any tasks or chores, by all means, continue."

"I'll finish up really quick, then, okay?" she promised, pattering up the stairs. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back."

When she disappeared to the second level and I no longer heard footsteps, I sighed, overcome with nervousness. In all honesty, I felt bad that she was looking forward to an excursion today that would never happen. She had no idea what this day would have in store for her.

This had to be over with, though. Waiting a minute or so, I followed her path up the stairs.

On the top landing, the setting sun shined through a window at the end of the hall, elongating the shadows of a decorative table with a blue vase and mirror. There were four doors, two to each side. I didn't know which one Renata disappeared into, but by stepping forward, I noticed the one to my immediate right was open a crack and sounds of rustling came from within.

I breathed deeply and sighed. I rapped on the wood lightly. "Renata? Are you decent?"

There was a pause inside, like she hadn't expected me. Which I really couldn't fault her for. "I am. You can come in. Is there something you need?"

A wave of shyness suddenly overcame me. I was about to enter her bedroom, the most personalized living space of hers. The place where she dressed and slept. Edging the door open and letting the momentum carry it the rest of the way, I found Renata standing the full length across, near the window.

A conventional lamp on her bedside table cast the room in a soft, agreeable, yellowy glow. Magenta curtains behind her were pulled over the window, hovering barely an inch off the floor, and were semi-transparent enough to confirm day or night, but little else could be seen. A twin bed, moderately disheveled, was situated longways, jutting into the center of the room.

It wasn't like I had Victorian sensibilities about her state of dress, what she wore was perfectly acceptable even in public. I just wish it didn't distract me so much.

I cleared my throat importantly. "Renata, I need to talk to you."

Renata stopped what she was doing, a red t-shirt dangling in her fist. "Oh yeah? What about?"

I crossed the hardwood floor in a downplayed manner. Her feet stayed where they were, but she watched me like I was acting peculiar. Serenely, I removed the shirt from her hands and set it aside on the dresser.

"Oswald, is something wrong? You don't seem like yourself."

Clutching her fingers with mine, I contemplatively rubbed her knuckles. "Perhaps it's best if we sat down." Before she could question further, I steered her in reverse to her bed and seated myself.

Renata lowered hesitantly, folding one leg onto the mattress. Now eye-level with me, she was suddenly rather skittish, glancing on either side of her. "Oh. Um, Oswald." She let go of me, her fingers stiffening. "I-I don't think our relationship is quite—I don't think I'm quite ready for...for—"

"It's nothing to do with that."

Her face blanked. "...Oh! Oh, oh, yeah, of course." She rubbed her ankle vigorously. In seconds the most blazing shade of red burned her face. In normal circumstances I would have impishly teased her for it, but this moment was very important. It had to be done with the utmost care, devotion, and most of all, dignity. "Go right ahead, then. What did you want to talk to me about?"

A strand of her dark hair broke rank, cutting through her brow and resting over her eye. Stalling for a moment, I pinched the strand between two fingers and neatly tucked it behind her ear, freeing my view of any imperfection. She viewed me expectantly, waiting to hear what I needed to say. My distraction with fixing her hair ebbed, and I paused for a moment to take in all of her.

And then I pounced.

I couldn't suppress myself. I found her lips in no time, knowing that it would be the last time I ever would experience what they felt like. The initial seconds were like a test of my own willpower.

Soon I felt her smile against my mouth, and there was no way to describe my elation when she kissed back.

In a crescent stroke, I made quick work of tucking her hair behind her ears, cupping her jaw momentarily before I let my hands slide inchingly down her neck. My touch feather-light, I stroked her throat with my thumbs. I was almost scared. I had never felt this particular part of her yet, and I lamented how everything would stop short there. It was with a heaviness in my heart that much of her was still uncharted territory for me, and I thought fleetingly of a longer future that we would never have together.

She made the slightest, finalizing movement to pull back, but I didn't let her, _couldn't_ let her. A surge of passion deepened my kiss, and perhaps I might have been a little too invigored, for I heard the gentle thump of her skull against the headboard. Just the vibration alone from that tiny moan of surprise against my lips was enough to send a jolt of untainted frenzy through my bones. I applied pressure, spurred by the thrill of her. She responded very sweetly. Her fluttery, nasal sigh skipped across my cheek. Apparently my enthusiasm was more vigorous than I thought.

All previous times we kissed dissolved in my mind as meaningless. Inconsequential. We were basically a pair of teenagers back then, what the hell did we know what we were getting into? I wanted nothing more than to kiss her for real this time, because now it meant something.

Her palms were flat on my collarbone. Rising upward, they rounded the bend, and slid down the trail of my spine. My shoulders were tensing, ready to wrestle out of my jacket so that there would be one less barrier between her fingertips and my skin.

All the missed accumulated years crashed into me. My body detached from my mind and was enacting everything I biologically craved. Temporarily freed of conscious permission, I greedily stole what I had been denied. Finesse and technique failed me, but I made up for it with intuition. A lower-dwelled pressure in my gut was driving me. Why did she have to feel—so—_good_?

I gripped her neck to hold her in place, and partially for my own stability, I was so consumed. My heart swelled in a great, pleasurable pain, ready to break out of its bony prison. My senses heightened in a haze of perfume and our own electricity. The noise of our enthusiasm filled the room. I'd never kissed like this. This wasn't a moment where my heart just raced, it was right there pounding in my throat, sending an adrenaline rush the likes of which I'd never encountered. This was what addiction felt like.

But every passing second was only making it harder to say goodbye. I had a job to do.

Drinking the feeling of her in, savoring every single sensory stimulant to commit to memory, my thumbs massaged the little groove in her throat, the sweet spot. Her breath hitched in her nose. She uttered a muffled little sound, swiftly clutched my wrist for support, and retracted her lips with a delicate smack, no doubt to have a laugh at my eagerness.

At first.

Her glowing expression slackened when she saw me, as if she couldn't figure out what I was doing and thus was unsure of how to proceed from there. My expression in reply was blank. Those split seconds worked to my advantage. She made a small movement to speak, but with every passing second she failed to react I had gotten closer to blocking her windpipe.

She opened her mouth in a pained, confused O. By now my grip had effectively rendered her voice to stay confined within her chest. She clutched both my wrists so fast that the slap felt sharp. Her fingers squeezed in agony, a hold that I felt right down to my bones. Her eyes popped in a bewildered expression, but I told myself not to let go no matter what. A dry sound, like she was parched, came through like a wheeze.

Maybe it was the look in my eye, a concentrated, unblinking, unforgiving stare, maybe it was her inability to breathe, but she caught on soon enough, and just as I expected, she began to fight back. Whining, smoke-thin rasps snaked up her throat, and a spurt of her voice escaped. Thrusting her torso in jerky convulsions, she struggled to shake me off. She scratched at my fingers like they were a tightening collar she needed to remove immediately.

By now her lips—those sweet lips that I had kissed goodbye only moments ago—were beginning their slow process of transforming from blushing pink to a bruised blue. With her continuous clawing at my arms, I was grateful that the suit spared my skin from her raking labourer's nails. Her back arched against the headboard and her chest jutted forth in an attempt to breathe and release a strangled cough, but I stopped it dead.

I saw my chance. Gently as I could, vowing to use no more force than necessary, I guided her flat onto her back for better leverage, sinking her into the bed. She went down easier than expected, no doubt too preoccupied with trying wrestle out of my hold. I wish the mattress had been firmer so that I didn't have to unnecessarily waste more energy in the effort, but I somehow managed. Straddling her with both of my knees holding her hips in place, I easily had the upper hand.

Her drowning eyes opened. I would say that the way she looked at me right then broke my heart, and looking back I suppose it did, but she didn't understand why I had to do it. I am okay with her thinking I was a monster in those brief moments. She didn't know then that I was saving her from an even worse fate at the hands of someone who wasn't me.

Her bulging eyes pleaded with mine, and she didn't need a voice to convey what they were saying. I knew exactly what they were saying...

_Why?_

Her last stand was upon her. With a surge of collected energy from out of nowhere, she slapped and slashed at my forearms one more time, punching my shoulder, aiming for my face and missing, feebly using her ebbing strength to make me relinquish. Alas for a respectable effort, my resolve stayed as strong as my unforgiving grip. Almost there. I had to be quick. I couldn't allow her to suffer.

Her body writhed violently under mine, bucking me out of place. Just using my knees wasn't enough anymore. I sank down flat and held her in place by pressing my body on top of her, happy to be given the chance to feel her soft, hourglass body one more time, in a way that I'd never felt her before. Spreading my elbows out, I pinned her arms down. Her swollen lip trembled. I kissed her forehead lovingly, leaning down to meet it instead of inconveniencing her by raising her sweat-drenched face upward.

"It's okay," I whispered. "Don't be scared."

I could feel the ball of her throat bobbing beneath my thumbs. Her jaw was wide open in reflex. I could see her swelled tongue seizing inside, and a desperate, squeaking hiccup clicked in the back of her throat. Another series of uneven, squeaking hiccups. Looking into her watering eyes, I then discovered that these were sobs. She was crying. I had never heard a sound so pitiful, so helpless.

"Don't cry," I soothed, touching my nose to her trembling cheek. "Don't cry..."

She bucked underneath me and craned her chin sidelong, stretching to get away from me. Hurt stung me like a whip. I know my betrayal hurt her, but it was all for the greater good. I held her clouding eyes unflinchingly within my sight. I forced her direction back onto me. I had to know, had to see when the last of that beautiful light I had loved so much would leave them. I wanted to be the last thing she saw, the only person in the world who loved her enough to do this for her.

"I never accounted for what you would do to me," I whispered. "You, so meek and unassuming. None of this will be for nothing."

Her jaw flexed faintly for one more spoken word, but she didn't have the air capacity for it. I was thankful she was rendered silent. Otherwise she would have called me words I never wanted to hear her call me.

And then at long last, mere moments later, just like that, her hands delicately slipped from the crinkled sleeves of my suit and fell bonelessly onto the mattress, palm open. Her ring finger twitched only once. The irises of her eyes had stopped flittering about, and her pupil, the last voluntary movement I ever saw of hers, ceased to focus.

And then everything was still.

A ringing in my ears blocked all possible sound. My hands felt sweaty and hot. I didn't realize until that moment of dead quiet how hard I had been breathing. It was part effort, part exhileration at having succeeded. I kept my hands frozen in place, exactly where they were, just to be certain.

Finally, after a long pause in which Renata did nothing, I peeled my fingers away, clenching and unclenching to rid myself of the tightness in my knuckles. Her glassy, abandoned eyes were fixed on the bedside table lamp, a mini-lightbulb reflected in each. A ring of clumsy red marks circled her throat, sure to form into damning bruises within minutes.

I expelled an imprisoned breath. "You did good, Renata," I whispered proudly, gently raking my fingers through her damp hair to brush it aside. "I'll miss you more than you'll ever know."

Darkness descended outside. The cover of night was integral, and also not completely without its dangers of getting caught.

Regretfully leaving her behind, I left her room to gather what I needed. Luck was with me this night, for the streetlamp guarding Renata's house was still extinguished, leaving me difficult to see should some nosy neighbor be watching.

Working diligently, I shut off every light in the house. From the dank, spider-webbed basement I fetched a weighted tarp, returned to her bedroom, and spread it over the mattress. Her eyes watched me blankly. Her lips were parted, baring a tiny flash of teeth. Oh, Renata, do not look at me that way. This was all for you. What I did was for you.

Gathering her wrapped body in the tarp and cradling it in my arms, I took a couple stabilizing breaths before lifting. Her body sank in my arms and I nearly dropped her back onto the bed. Boosting her dead weight up with my knee, I managed to get a good, solid hold. I wouldn't give her the indignity of dragging her down the stairs.

Outside in the cool, balmy night, I carried her to my waiting car which had been in storage for months—an old clunker in need of a good gasoline bath and a merciful spark of ignition—and laid her in the trunk. I would have much rather laid her down in the back seat, but that carried too much of a risk of being seen.

Construction was beginning on the harbour's wharf, currently in the middle of transitioning over a fish processing facility from the crumbling lost-cause half a mile down. The bare-bones shell of a warehouse had already been erected. The place was abandoned at this hour, though.

Popping the trunk, I gathered Renata and brought her to the water's edge at the end of the concrete walkway. Kneeling, I set her lower body down, but kept the upper in my arms, allowing myself just a few more moments alone with her. I kissed Renata where her forehead should have been, already missing the feel of her. Where I wanted skin I instead found rough, semi-glossy fibers.

If only for my sanity and to not extend my suffering, I devotedly lowered her into the water, letting the weights do their job.

The dark, warped image of her encased body shrank, and eventually disappeared. Kind of like the way my brother Robert disappeared into the dark depths of the frozen lake the last time I saw him alive.

While staring into the inky black water, I leaned my hands on my knees like I was winded, though I truly felt like I had no breath left to breathe. It was dragging down along with her. But it was done. My heart remained forcefully numbed. It had to be. If I reflected in depth as to what I had done, I would just miss her more. Proper time to grieve would come later.

Gotham was too corrupted for selfless people like Renata. She may not have known it, but I had done her the greatest favor, at the expense of my own heart. She wasn't meant for a dark world that wouldn't see her the way I could. It was better to let her leave the way she was rather than meet a grislier end sooner or later. That was what happened to people too kind, too naive, too trusting.

I got back onto my feet. The burgeoning sunrise was somewhere out there. A caressing seabreeze cooled my flushed, damp face.

And here I am again now, a year later to the hour, standing at the very same spot. Funny. Even my stance is so similar that I can scarcely believe a year has separated then and now, as though the full year in-between had never happened and my place had truly been here. My mind kept wandering back to this place often enough, it was almost as if I was.

I chose the harbour for a specific reason. She told me stories of her childhood during our short time. When she was a little girl her mother would give her some change in a small leather coin purse—Renata would always pause at this part to add that it was beautifully stitched and decorated with embroidered red poppies—and then she would walk the few blocks necessary to the saltwater taffy shop on the pier (now long gone). With her white paper bag full of candy, she would dangle her feet over the boardwalk, snacking and waiting for her father's fishing boat to come in with the day's catch.

I think it was a poetic, fitting end. She would have loved it.

I could have built a life with her...

But I wanted this more.

Don't think of it as having been a choice between you and Gotham, Renata. I wish I could've had both. You will forever be a special part of me, one hidden where no one else can find you. One day we'll see eachother again. And when that day comes, I will have left a legacy that will carry on long after I'm gone, scarred onto Gotham's history, significant and memory-worthy. You'll be so proud of me.

Some might say I had effectively snuffed out everything that was good in my life. But I didn't. I preserved it. Now _nobody_ could ever forcefully take her away. I cannot be swayed, I cannot be blackmailed, I cannot pay a hefty ransom. Renata was one of the most important things in my life. Naturally, that made her my greatest weakness. A weakness I'd do anything for, therefore a powerful weapon to potential enemies. Loneliness is crippling, but perhaps that's just the way things have to be with me. I am unlovable and I just have to make due with the fact.

I procured from my inner pocket a sprig of baby's breath. I brushed it under my nose for a delicate sniff, gave it a light kiss, and solemnly tossed it into the water. It floated, bobbing with the tiny waves, circled by ripples of rainwater. I opened my umbrella, taking one last look before turning on my polished heel and leaving Renata's watery grave behind.

At first sight in that alley, I never could have predicted, not in a hundred years, the role that woman would play in my life, and ultimately the role I would play in hers. Hers would have been much better off—and longer—had she never met me. Her kindness was her undoing. Funny how simply having a day off work could dramatically alter an entire life. But like I said, I'm glad she happened to me, however short our time was. I did not lie when I told her I loved her.

To my knowledge, Renata's case is still cold, and I intend to keep it that way.

I suppose it's a sign of a twisted mentality to acknowledge one's accomplishments as a killer, but every single person who stood in my way simply had to be removed, there was no question. I'm not a killer. I'm an opportunist. Poor mother. She will never know what I put in Jason's sandwich that day. Or the patch of ice I softened. Or that I wore cinderblocks strapped to my feet in order to reach the gas pedals.

Butch was waiting near the car, flicking away a cigarette when he saw me nearing. "Did what you needed to do?"

I nodded.

Butch did as well, then motioned to the car. "Get on it, Fish's waiting for us. Should be interesting, Raoul still hasn't paid up." He opened the driver's side door and slid in.

I looked one more time at the far off city skyline, and had no question as to who it would all belong to eventually.

Gotham's underworld is a monarchy.

And who better to assume its vacant throne than I.

_**THE END**_

* * *

**A/N: Oh God, please don't be mad at me, guys! Just hear me out first and **_**then**_** I will file my paperwork for the Witness Protection Program! I know by the tone of the reviews that a lot of people were looking forward to this story being something of a tiny redemption for Oswald in the wake of being treated like an ant under a boot for most of his life. I'll even understand if you want to unFavorite now, I'm even expecting a mass exodus from my stats. But you now see why I named this story "Necessary Evil". Before the Gotham show premiered, I expected Oswald to get the Woobie treatment (TV Tropes Definition of Woobie: A name for any type of character that makes you feel sorry for them, to which the audience vicariously experiences relief from some pain by fantasizing about the relief of the Woobie's pain.)**

**Which isn't inherently a bad thing! I didn't write this to be a mockery or satire of those types of stories. But I wanted to show Penguin as the twisted, unforgiving psycho that he is, just like in the Batman mythos. While Penguin did fall in love a few times during several Batman timelines over the years, and felt amazingly good about finding someone who could love him, his problems run deep. Sometimes just having someone to love you for who you are doesn't make all those problems go away. He's a very nuanced character, I've always had a liking towards him.**  
**To those I sent thank you messages to for your reviews, I was trying really hard to keep this ending spoiler free, and I hope you don't think I was dishonest by keeping it from you.**

**I, of course, very much disapprove of Oswald's course of action in this last chapter and won't pretend to romanticize Renny's murder, but the way I see Penguin is that Gotham's unique type of "law" is so ingrained into his mind that it's changed him to think this as a viable course of action. I hope that showed in the writing. That's what I wanted to show in this story, that it looks like maybe he has a chance for redemption (because he has actually tried many times canonically to become a good person), but Gotham's unforgiving streets can always potentially call him back.**

**Penguin's family member's names and their methods of death are from his New 52 origin story "Pain and Prejudice", but I invented Anna-Jane Kopecky, Gina Carlto, Renata Laskaris, and all events and people related to these three. I also made up pieces of the past with Oswald's brothers.**

**I'm guessing The New 52 version is the Penguin origin that **_**Gotham**_** is going for, since Robin Lord Taylor was told by producers to read "Penguin: Pain and Prejudice", among two others, in preparation for the role. Imagine my shock (SHOCK!) when I heard that. Because I had bought and read that very same graphic novel almost a year earlier. I was unintentionally ahead of the curve! Just let me have this moment, I so rarely do...**

**I shared so many wonderful conversations with you folk along the way. Let's not be strangers please. And I didn't realize how many of you really wanted these two to have sex. Like...a lot of you.**

**To every reader, thank you so much for the opportunity to entertain you. It's been an honour *bows*  
**

_Sky Mage_ \- Oh, aren't you sweet. I'm super flattered you love the kiss scenes, I can't tell you this enough, thank you, and it makes me happy you enjoyed them. Makes me very happy to know what you think about Renata.

_guest_ \- Alas, that was not meant to be. I apologize if you ended up being disappointed and have been turned off this story. Still, thank you very much for your input and thoughts :D

**Oh right, gotta skip town, change my identity. I could always change my name to Pamela Isley. Yeah, yeah, that's a good start...**

**...But first, how about an upcoming **_**10 Years Later**_** bonus chapter?**


	14. Bonus: 10 Years Later

_GOTHAM'S NEW KINGPIN?_

Despite being presented as a question as if there was any doubt, I quite liked the sound of that headline.

My office was in darkness, but the silvery angle of moonlight bent across my ornately carved desk was plenty satisfactory. I gnawed my ebony cigarette holder and exhaled. Dragon-like plumes of smoke leisurely filtered through my nostrils, unleashing a fog over the newsprint. Smoking was a habit I picked up in the aftermath of finally ridding the world of Fish Mooney's influence, staining my teeth worse than they ever have been, but it's calming rush did much to quell my temper.

A knock, firm and official, rattled my door.

"Enter," I commanded, the cigarette holder bobbing to the rhythm of my mouth.

Curtis was right on time, punctual as always. The lad stepped in through only a crack large enough for his lanky frame to slip through, his mop of curly golden hair bright enough to be seen even in the shadow-drenched double doorway.

He'd been under my payroll for near seven years now. Found the destitute cretin on the street when he was just a boy, no older than fifteen. His story was typical: drug addicted mother, father flew the coop, kid took to petty thievery and amateur car parts provider. I found a use for him easily enough. Trust was a slow build, but when it happened it stuck. Over the years he graduated from errand boy to lookout, and finally to an assistant of sorts. Not my right-hand man or the inheritor of my kingdom, but a reliable young man nonetheless—not to mention obedient, a trait surprisingly hard to come by in this business.

It is amazing what people will do for you if you extend a little kindness where they recieve none.

"Mr. Cobblepot," said Curtis respectfully, standing rather primly in his black tuxedo, as was standard dress code at my Iceberg Lounge. He was a natural in it.

"Send her in."

Curtis nodded and disappeared through the slit he entered from. The door then swung open all the way. Flanked by two large bouncers acting as escorts, Natalie Callahan looked quite small inbetween them despite being of average height. Her posture was stiff and disconcerted, verifying her ignorance of the reason she had been summoned to my dark, foreboding den. Her brown bob, fluffed and preened for her evening shift, swayed from side to side as she neared my desk, stopping just before it.

"Take a seat," I offered, gesturing to the lonely, armless, vinyl chair before my desk.

Natalie did as instructed and gingerly lowered herself onto the cushion, smoothing her black cocktail dress over her knees.

"Miss Callahan," I greeted in the light of a brief flare of glowing orange ash.

"Mr. Cobblepot, you wanted to see me?" she said quietly.

"Indeed. There is no pretense, I bear dreadful news, I'm afraid. I've recieved word this evening that your brother has been involved in a serious motorbike accident."

Natalie's posture dwindled. Her irises shrank as the whites of her eyes expanded. When my remark had time to settle, she cupped her mouth with her palm, forgetting all about the splash of color that would smear it when she pulled it away. Her eyes glistened, then tightened, and a squeak escaped through her fingers.

"I assure you, he is alive," I said. "He is currently resided at Gotham General and is in stable condition at this moment."

Natalie's shoulders plummeted in relief. "Oh, thank God," she whispered, shifting her hands over her cheeks. Still, the good news understandably did not keep her tears at bay. A trail of mascara was cutting a jagged, stormy-grey crack down her cheek.

"Moving on," I said dismissively, "that was not the matter I wanted to discuss with you."

Natalie possibly couldn't hear me over the sound of her sniveling, but it was made clear to me she did when she gave me her fleeting attention just then.

"You could save us all the time and explain it yourself, however. In fact, I would prefer it. There are many things I'd rather be doing."

Natalie's tears ceased. Her hands floated in the orbit of her face, and they remained frozen there in a bout of confusion.

"Don't remember? Well then, I can certainly recount your steps if you are particularly amnesic this evening. The near loss of a family member will do that, I understand."

Her lips parted, then sputtered. "Mr. Cobblepot, I-I need to go see my brother."

"You will eventually. Believe me, he is not going anywhere."

Natalie hands lowered rigidly, then crawled to hold the edges of her seat. She crossed one leg over the other, a defensive mechanism, like she wanted to sink backwards into her chair until she disappeared. To get away from me. I was scaring her, but she wouldn't dare leave my office without my explicit dismissal. Good. "Mr. Cobblepot," she said as firmly as her nerves dared, "I-I don't understand, this isn't ethical, you can't keep me from seeing him, it's-it's—"

"It's fitting that you mention ethics, my dear. While I admittedly may lack them from time to time, it would seem hypocritical of you to accuse me of such a thing, wouldn't it?"

Something was dawning in Natalie's face, a slow comprehension. Of guilt-ridden knowledge, to be sure.

I tutted in disappointment. "To buy illicit drugs for your own recreational use, Natalie? Consider me shocked that one of my very own employees would stoop to such lows."

Natalie opened her mouth, denial evident on her face.

I sharply held up a finger to silence her. "With my own money, no less. To which I did _not_ expressly forward permission to use. In fact, you had done it all in secret, hadn't you? Slipped a bill or two discreetly into your waistband. Do you know what we call that, Miss Callahan?"

The young woman's chest was heaving. Her breaths shallowed by the second and her grip turned her knuckles white. At a loss for words this time, she pressed her lips tightly together.

"We call that embezzlement. Are you familiar with this term, Miss Callahan?"

Luckily for her, she caught the sardonic inflection and kept her mouth shut. I reclined comfortably in my chair, rested my cigarette holder between two fingers, and emitted a bluish haze in her direction, daring her to cough and fan it away. It breezed over her like a wave, spreading out from the barrier of her body. Impressively, she did not flinch.

"Mr. Cobblepot, I'm begging you, we can talk about this later." Tears were returning to her eyes, and her fear was spilling into her speech. "Please just let me go see my brother."

I admired the cigarette's spiraling smoke trail rising into the air. "Patches of gravel are such tricky little things. Especially in the darkness. You can hardly tell they're there until your tires are already treading it."

"...How did you know that?"

I smiled, casting a glance sidelong at her. "You're changing the subject at hand, Miss Callahan. Do try to not interrupt me."

Natalie's horror emerged slowly, transforming her young, pretty face. Her mouth slackened, and she suddenly covered it, her irises shrinking. She shook her head only minimally, her muscles too seized to sway.

"I'm happy to see you've caught up," I said pleasantly. Straightening up in my chair, I faced her dead on. "An amazing feat of the human body is in its adrenal glands. Why, with just the right quantity released, a surprising amount of pain can be numbed, even tolerated for a time. Shame how it doesn't last very long." I snapped my fingers for Curtis. Dutifully, he marched past Natalie and handed me the cellular phone he'd had on hold in his possession. I took it, hovering the device near my ear. "What if a nurse happened to, let's say, forget a few air pockets in one's morphine injection—"

"But that could kill him!"

"By fatal air embolism? Oh, I know. The human body is not without its vulnerabilities. Let us take the spinal column for instance. A mere one or two instances of rough handling could potentially force an injured back into paralyzation from the waist down."

"You can't! You wouldn't! I-I swear, I'm sorry, I will pay back every cent, _every—single—cent_ I owe—"

"You see," I continued like I hadn't heard her, "hospital staff could possibly discover their injection mistake and save his life just in time. Or they may not. For even though he would lose the use of his legs, he will still be very much alive. Remarkable progress has been made throughout the years, wouldn't you agree? The world is far more accessible to the disabled than it's ever been before."

I teased the phone closer, ready to utter my signal.

"No please, don't kill him!" she openly sobbed, clutching the edge of my desk as if that would impede or appeal to me.

"Tick tock, Miss Callahan."

"_Please_, my brother's been doing so well for himself! He just got clean, he's made himself a new man!"

I smiled pleasingly. "Well then, that settles it. Your wish is granted this night." I brought the phone to my ear, making sure to meet Natalie's eyes. "Work the lower spine," I said, then snapped the phone shut.

Natalie bent, devastated. Her body was in unheaval, wracked with anguish. She wailed into her hands, repeating, "No, no, no, no..."

My smile faded to a sneer. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? You have nobody to blame but yourself. You are dismissed, permanently. I want you off my premises within the next ten minutes, or I will be forced to retract my earlier mercy. Curtis? Show Miss Brewer in, please."

Curtis nodded and opened one of the office doors wide, beckoning my second employee of the night in.

Tanya had been waiting patiently on a vinyl bench in the hall and trepidatiously stepped up. She was forced to dodge sideways when Natalie came barreling through. Tanya looked over her shoulder nervously, staring after Natalie as the distraught girl bolted down the long hallway.

"Take a seat," I said, effectively grabbing Tanya's attention. She swiftly but calmly obeyed and lowered herself onto Natalie's vacated chair, no doubt still left warm.

Petite was an understatement. Many would have taken Tanya for fourteen had her driver's license not said twenty-five. She was compact, with slight and narrow bone structure, but solidly planted with two feet firmly on the ground. On my orders, Curtis managed to catch her at the end of her shift, just before she vacated the building. Clad in her street clothes of a pair of faded blue jeans, a royal purple long-sleeve, a black jacket vest, and sneakers, she stuck out rather sharply in the opulent atmosphere of my office. Her wispy, limp blonde hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail.

"This will not take long," I assured her, gathering and tapping a few papers on my desk.

"That's okay," she said, ponderously eyeing the two bodyguards on either side of her. "I can catch the next bus in an hour."

"Like I said, it will not take long." I perused the report in front of me to jog my memory to the more intricate details. "That altercation you got into a few days ago must have been quite the ordeal."

"I've moved on," she said in a way that built herself up professionally.

"You've refused my offers of counseling."

"I grew up near Park Row. You learn to brush off things like these out of necessity to keep going. I promise, Mr. Cobblepot, I won't lie that I might have been scared at that moment, but I'm fine for now. It wasn't the first time I had a gun pulled on me."

"I imagine such a thing can never get old, no matter how many times it has happened."

Tanya didn't answer, but nodded in a detached manner.

"Such stoicism is admirable, Miss Brewer, but I'm afraid you need to learn which battles to face and which to walk away from."

Tanya had enough humility left in her to cross her arms sheepishly. "I know I didn't follow proper protocol, sir. It was impulsive, and I apologize."

"I'm afraid this is more serious than that. Why didn't you wait for security?"

"They weren't going to get to my table in time before he made off with the chips and Mrs. Alton's gold bracelet. He got into an arguement with me about the cards I dealt, accusing me of cheating him. That's when he began to yell and physically threaten me, so I hit the call button and stared him down. He kicked his chair out from under him like he was going to lunge for me, but then he grabbed as many chips as he could take. When he made to run off, I chased after him and jumped onto his back."

"According to the report, he then threw you off and drew the gun on you."

"That's what happened, yes. By then, security arrived and tackled him to the ground."

"Miss Brewer, we have training in place to specifically ensure that you are not threatened while on the job. Employees are specifically instructed to let security handle dangerous altercations."

"I know," she said, nodding at the floor.

"You should have let him go. Do you know what I would have had to deal with had he pulled the trigger?"

"He was stealing Iceberg Casino property, and stole a bracelet from an old woman. I felt like I couldn't just stand there and let him get away with it, it was reflex reaction, and I promise, it won't happen again. I wouldn't have gone after him if I knew he had a gun. I...I've been robbed too many times in my life to just let these things go." Tanya was as taut as a tight rope. She tapped a finger once—twice—on her knee. Most unlike her.

Balancing the cigarette holder in my mouth, I clasped my hands on the desk conversationally. "Your son. How old is he now?"

"He's, um, he's seven, sir."

I nodded. "A growing boy needs his mother. I'm sure he and I are of the same sentiment to want you to be around for a very long time for him. I wonder if perhaps you both need some time away from Gotham."

Tanya's fingers curled and she suddenly looked fearful.

I held up a hand to stop what she was about to say. "Your job will remain secure here, of course, when you are due to return. With additional bonus and pay increase."

"...Pay increase?"

"My new Casino Floor Manager can hardly be paid a BlackJack dealer's wage."

Tanya's lips parted. "_Me_?"

"I can think of nobody more suitable. I find it in everybody's best interests to not reward life-threatening habits, do not mistake me. But _loyalty._ Now something like that cannot go unrewarded. Consider it my honour to permit you and your son to spend some quality time together in the Cayman Islands for two weeks, all expenses paid." Perhaps a very strong breeze had the capability to blow her over, but Tanya was unmovable metaphorically. And that was what I liked about her. That quiet pride.

She covered her mouth, quivering with a contained sob, lost for words.

"My additional apologies for taking up your time in order for you to miss your ride," I added. "Rocko?"

One bodyguard stepped forward. "Yes, sir?"

"Escort Miss Brewer to my private garage. Tell Elias that I've given my permission. And also that Miss Brewer is free to help herself to any refreshment during the journey home."

"Yes, sir."

While I was preoccupied giving orders, Tanya had dissolved into silent tears. "Mr. Cobblepot, no, I-I can't accept all this from you, I can't—" she blubbered.

"I will see you in two weeks, Miss Brewer," I said, half-smiling a tiny measure to encourage her to forget her inhibitions. I glanced at my watch. "You should probably get packing, your plane leaves in less than forty-eight hours." Sliding out one of my side drawers, I produced two airline tickets and tossed them onto the desk with enough momentum to land before her.

Tanya's shoulders shook as she doubled over, burying her face in her hands. Shaking her head unbelievingly, she resurfaced. "Bless you, Mr. Cobblepot. Bless you." She was almost frightened to touch the tickets, as if reaching out for them would trigger the dream's end and they'd dissolve into nothing. Finally, she delicately gathered them together. I allowed her a few seconds to confirm that they were real.

She glanced up at me again gratifyingly. "Thank you _so_ much," she murmured.

"It is deserved. Go on now." I encouragingly swatted her away.

Rocko stood next to her. Tanya took that as her dismissal and rose from the chair, emphatically shuffling the tickets in front of her, reading their details over and over. She pressed them against her heart. "Before I go, can I just give you a hug?" she asked me.

I blinked. Suddenly I remembered the bulk of smoke still in my lungs and slowly released it.

"Please?" she begged.

The unusualness of such a request delayed me. People simply did not want to hug me, and it wasn't as though I frequently doled them out either, or even looked like the type of person who did. Nevertheless, I supposed I could agree, if only for the simple reason that I couldn't think of a single harmful thing in the act, and also to placate the young lady. "Very well, then."

Tanya rounded the desk with a spritely step. I rose only to greet her, waiting for her to move first. I was merely the recipient after all, it wasn't required of me to do anything until she did. Frankly, this was odd enough as it was, and I was only too glad to be free of the responsibility. Her arms encircled my middle and she laid her head against my chest—she couldn't quite reach my shoulder. In response, I loosely placed my hands atop her shoulder blades, patting her once or twice.

She extended her stay rather boldly.

The seconds ticked on.

"Alright, alright," I said under my breath, softening my usual gruffness for her sake. Grasping her upper arms, I amiably distanced her from myself.

Tanya smiled, almost admiringly. "I will never forget this. My son's never seen a beach in his life, he'll love it. Thank you."

"Have a good evening, Miss Brewer."

Tanya nodded gratefully. She left with Rocko and Mark, leaving just Curtis behind.

"Anything else you need, Mr. Cobblepot?"

"That is all, Curtis. Enjoy your evening."

Curtis nodded and saw himself out, closing the wood panel door behind him, the click echoing in the cavernous room, the door handle righting itself back to its stationary position.

Recent rumors against me have been quite deceitful. I am good and exceedingly generous to those who work hard and prove their loyalty and worth to me.

However, rumors of my punishments are quite true. In fact, they are not generous enough. I would have Alfie, my former casino manager, attest to that, but he is currently indisposed, enjoying a hands-on view of the sea floor.

I could have used some relaxation for the moment. During the Iceberg's development stage, I commissioned for the aviary of my dreams to be constructed for me in a private, well-spaced cove on the building's rooftop. I certainly wouldn't have minded visiting my birds this evening.

Rising from my chair, I casually circled the desk, glancing again ponderingly at the newspaper headline flat on the surface. My shadow stretched against the wall parallel to me.

My sword-tipped umbrella once belonged to my father, paranoid bugger he was. Unfortunately for myself, I had no time to lunge for it. Aided by moonlight, the second shadow with the two pointed tips at the crown of its head dashed away as soon as it appeared. My vision blurred as I was violently yanked by my jacket from behind. I came to a rough and sudden stop, flat to my back. All air in my lungs was wrung out from the collision. My assailant used his reinforced forearm to pin my throat against the wall. No floor existed beneath me anymore. I pointed the tips of my shoes down to try and gain some traction, but they remained aloft.

"I know you're behind this. Talk!"

"You-You do me a disservice," I strained, grinning wickedly despite my lung-restricting predicament. The wobble in my words was physically forced, I was far from fear. This Batman was no threat to me. "You think I am responsible?"

"The recent salvage of Renata Laskaris' body in the Gotham harbor. An investigation for ten years, no leads and no clues to her disappearance."

"Yes, I am quite up to speed with current events. And?" I said boredly. Or at least as boredly as my foot-dangling position would allow.

"Until I found a cuff link clenched in her hand—bearing a little-known Cobblepot insignia."

Procuring a small object from his belt, Batman pinched in his black-gloved fingers a glinting gold, spherical clip and held it to my face. It looked indistinguishable from others, except for being a little tarnished from the long bath, not to mention the etched symbol that went back generations.

I laughed. I laughed deep, going as far as to throw my head back incredulously, as far as the drywall would allow. "Taken to raiding morgues now, have we? My dear boy, look around you. _Look_ at the city you chose to execute your naive little crusade in. One woman's cold case is nothing but a chip off a pebble. You cannot possibly have eliminated every potential murderer in this great city and come to the conclusion that _I_ had something to do with it. What is she to you? A relation? What could you possibly gain from solving her murder, what is it you want from this?"

"Justice."

"Don't we all?" I smiled mockingly. "What is it you _really_ want? Fame? Glory? Admiration? _Or_ is this errand of yours something more psychological."

The Batman grit his teeth. He slackened his grip only to hit me harder and more forcefully against the wall. "I know your games, _Penguin_," he hissed dangerously. "You may think you've sealed every hole, you may think you're clever enough to cover your tracks, but one of these days you will slip up and I will find out every one of your dirty little secrets. And when I do, I'm coming for you."

I was released, left for gravity to crush me to the floor.

The dependable thing about The Batman was that he tended to not stick around. Once the last pointed tip of that ridiculous cape winked out of existence, I glared hard at the open window he used as escape, seething as a gradual building rage brought heat to my face. It was the utmost offence that anybody disturb Renata's resting place. How dare he even utter her name in my presence!

Stabilizing my weight on my arm, I lifted myself into a sitting position, finicking with the wrinkles that brute crushed into my finely pressed collar, and set about fixing my cravat which he lodged out of place. Oh, I knew of him. Some of my underlings at the docks had quite a scuffle with him last month during my last arms shipment. Batman had surfaced earlier than that, maybe half a year ago, and along the way had been making quite the name for himself. Fancied himself some sort of vigilante. However, this was the first time I'd met the legend face to face.

When it came to Renata, nobody had anything on me. There was nothing incriminating left, and the safe was well-hidden. The night I released her of all worry I had been wary enough through the fog to keep two mementos. One, a framed photograph I pilfered from her bedroom, one that contained just her, beaming exuberantly mid-laugh with an ice cream cone in her hand, a ferris wheel just in view behind her. The second, I knew I could not leave her powdery-sweet scent behind forever, and so, the three-quarter bottle of her signature perfume on top of the dresser came with me.

I still have that photo, plus the bottle. Every glance and every inhale is a transport to the past. I never displayed her picture anywhere; not on my desk, not on my mantle, not even in my bedroom. People who might have recognized her would ask questions. No, it was best she remained my little secret. Even though Batman left, I dared not remove them now. It was too risky that he'd return.

My good friend Jim Gordon made himself a stranger since our falling out. Refusal to my willingness to form an alliance, a privilege I don't offer lightly, broke our tether. Most unfortunate. I should really give him a call soon about this little break-in. Catch up in the meantime. Ask how that little daughter of his is doing.

Renata formed in my mind's eye, the way she was back when I was younger and in love. Like all things, she filtered in and out of my mind throughout the years the longer time stretched and moved on without her. I still never forgot her, though, and truly, I didn't want to. In moments like these where I found myself more solitary than ever, I liked to imagine she was at home waiting for me. Of course, she never was. A spacious, darkened doorstep and a cooled bed were the only things capable of welcoming me home to my Victorian style manor.

Did I regret what I had done? Yes and no, in a sense. If my heart had its way, she would still be here. Whether or not with me would never be known, but I liked to think that the answer was yes. But love was impulsive, it didn't think in terms of the best solutions, only the most self-serving. No, what I did was merciful. She may not have deserved it, but neither would she have deserved an unfeeling, unsympathetic method through a hired killer. If anything, _I_ was the one who was robbed in all of this. I should've known then it would have been too good to be true. Regret perhaps is not the right word. Reluctant emptiness? Yes.

To this day, her name still felt pleasant on my tongue, and sometimes, if I thought really hard, I could almost feel the intensity of our last kiss again.

Renata had been dead for near a full decade now, yet she bestowed unto me a great, necessary lesson that I carried with me even after all this time: yes, it is amazing what people will do for you if you extend a little kindness where they receive none.

* * *

**A/N: And that's all there is.**

**Penguin's format of contrasting rewards for the two different girls was partly inspired by a few scenes in Pain and Prejudice, but I made up the two characters involved here and their respective scenarios.**

**It doesn't matter how short, how insignificant you feel your reviews might be (they're not), or how critical, I will take it all and learn from it. I want to know you people behind the screens. You had theories as to how this would end? Share 'em, let's discuss! Did you want a different ending? Tell me that, too.**

**Please let me take this moment to say that I **_**worship**_** all you guys. I can't believe I finished this, and it was all thanks to you. You guys made this story happen and made it the best it could possibly be. To think I would have ended it at only three chapters. October seems so long ago...This kind of turn out was more than anything I would have asked for. Please don't be strangers :D Lots of love to you.**


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